


In the Blink of an Eye

by originella



Series: SVU Trilogy [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-07-07 19:48:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 137,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19857052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/originella/pseuds/originella
Summary: “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”“I’ve just been raped. I was raped... I need help, please...”“Okay, we can help you. Where are you?”“FAO Schwarz in the ladies’ room.”“What’s your name, honey?”“Maggie. Maggie Isabelle Holbrook...”“All right, Maggie, I’m setting up your exact location into the database and dispatching an ambulance out to you now. Can you tell me how old you are?”“Seventeen. I’m seventeen. I just graduated high school a week ago.”“Shit. You from New York, Maggie?”“No. I’m on vacation here with my mom. It was a graduation present. We’re from Seattle.”





	1. Bad Girls, Bad Girls, Whatcha Gonna Do?

I’d known from an early age that I was adopted—how could you not in this day and age, what with the impressive technology people had successfully founded in the recent years? My mother told me that short version at five, right when I started school. She explained that some of the kids would talk about themselves coming from their mommies tummies, blah, blah, blah. She told me that I was adopted and while I was not her or my father’s biological child, I was just as loved.

When I entered high school at fourteen, she told me that my biological mother had just graduated high school herself after becoming pregnant with me, and, as an eighteen-year-old girl, didn’t feel she was best suited for the job of motherhood at that time. I felt a significant amount of pain at this information, but took it all in my stride. As my high school career went on, I learned in health class that the percentage for girls becoming pregnant as a teenager went up if you were born to a teenager. I was a strong advocate for birth control from day one, and knew that, no matter what, I would never follow in my mother’s footsteps.

When I graduated just months before my eighteenth birthday, my mother took me on a coveted trip to New York. I had aspirations of acting and Mom figured that I should see a real Broadway show. While I couldn’t dance to save my life, I had proven to be good at acting and singing, and even got a few calls from my father’s older brother’s connections while we were out there. While I had been born in New York, my family had moved to Seattle when I was very young after my father’s law firm wanted him to move out West to establish themselves out there. It had been 1989 when we moved out, so I was barely four years old at the time, so the adjustment period had been simple.

We saw a Broadway show and, afterwards, decided to make a trip to Manhattan to FAO Schwartz, because, seriously, we had to. Our plan was to browse and maybe pick out a few things before taking a cab to NYC and dining at Carbone. However, when we arrived at FAO Schwartz, my mother and I were not anticipating what would ultimately end up happening. I had settled upon a lovely teddy bear and my mother agreed to hold onto it for me as I was taken back towards the bathrooms, as the lines at the show had been far too long. As my mother waited for me, I could not, in a million years, comprehend what would happen to me.

I was seventeen years old, weeks from my own eighteenth birthday, when that day happened—when _it_ happened. He must’ve seen me through the crowd of other kids—I don’t know. I remember using the facilities but then he charged into the bathroom as I was washing my hands. I found out later that the sick bastard had put an “OUT OF ORDER” sign on the door so nobody could come in—clever son of a bitch, let me tell ya. He managed to throw my purse across the room—this was 2003, so I guess he didn’t feel the need to check if I had a cell phone on me—and pin my hands behind my back, before I had a chance to break away. He held me there, tearing through my sweater tights and pulling up the above-the-knee-length skirt of my new dress and pinned me to the counter. Grunting like a dog in heat into my ear, I felt him shove himself inside me.

Naturally, I tried to scream; I’d only dated three boys in high school—Bobby Thompson, Derrick Howard, and Lewis Monroe—and I hadn’t slept with any of them, or anyone, for that matter. Writhing against him in an attempt to get away from him, he chuckled—maybe he thought I wanted him. Having no experience in this field, all I could do was do my best to look away from my pathetic expression in the mirror in front of me, however, he thought of that, too. Gripping me tightly and angling my neck the way he wanted, he forced me to witness my attack; he also manages to choke me every few seconds as well. Then after maybe three or four minutes, which seemed like hours, he pulled away from me and cleaned himself off—my blood had gotten on him—and left the bathroom quickly and quietly.

Shaking and nearly blinded by my tears, I managed to pull my skirt down and dash over to my phone. I’d read somewhere that your first instinct if you’re assaulted is to take a shower—that is probably the _worst_ thing you can do. Fumbling with my purse, I quickly lock the bathroom door to prevent him coming back if he changed his mind at letting me live. Then, I open my bag and get my slim, silver cell phone out and open it quickly, the numbers 9-1-1 appearing on my screen as soon as I’ve entered them onto the keypad.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?” asks the woman on the other end.

“I’ve just been raped,” I whisper, managing to form the words. “I was raped... I need help, please...”

“Okay, we can help you. Where are you?”

“FAO Schwarz in the ladies’ room,” I reply quickly.

“What’s your name, honey?” the woman asks.

“Maggie,” I reply. “Maggie Isabelle Holbrook...”

“All right, Maggie, I’m setting up your exact location into the database and dispatching an ambulance out to you now,” she replies efficiently. “Can you tell me how old you are?”

“Seventeen,” I reply. “I’m seventeen. I just graduated high school a week ago,” I manage to get out, sobs choking my words.

“Shit,” the woman says quietly. “You from New York, Maggie?”

“No,” I reply. “I’m on vacation here with my mom. It was a graduation present,” I manage to keep talking. “We’re from Seattle.”

“Dammit,” the woman says in that same quiet voice. “Okay. Where are you? Are you out in the open?”

“No,” I reply. “I’ve locked myself in the ladies’ room... I’m scared that he’s going to come back...”

“Okay, Maggie, everything’s going to be fine. They’re going to be there very soon; I promise you...”

“Can I speak to a woman?” I ask. “Please, ma’am...”

“I’ll let them know about your request,” she replies.

“Them?” I want to know.

“Manhattan Special Victims’ Unit,” she says promptly.

. . .

Officers arrived just after an ambulance arrives; they see the blood loss and deduce that I am—or, rather, was—a virgin and quickly haul me onto a stretcher. I hear my mom screaming that she’ll kill whoever did this to me, and one of the EMT’s decides that she should be put into a cab. A woman with short, brown hair, similar to mine, states to a man of tall height and pale eyes that she’ll ride along with me and climbs in beside me in the ambulance. I hear the squeak of the doors shutting behind her and then a light _slap-slap_ as someone—presumably the man she spoke to—urges the ambulance to get to the hospital.

“Maggie?” says the woman, and I turn to look at her. “My name is Olivia, I’m a police detective with the Special Victims’ Unit. Can you tell me what happened to you?”

I sigh, nodding, the tears escaping. “The son of a bitch raped me,” I reply.

She nods, her eyes understanding. “I know you’re angry, Maggie, but the sooner you tell me everything, the sooner I can get out of your hair.” She takes a moment for her words to sink in before continuing. “Some of the officers noticed that there was an “OUT OF ORDER” sign on the bathroom door. Do you know anything about that?”

I shake my head vehemently. “No!” I cry. “There wasn’t when I went back there, I swear! An employee showed me the restroom and assured me that everything back there was working fine...”

She nods again. “Okay. So you went in there to use the bathroom. You said an employee showed you. Did you get his name?”

I nod. “Yeah. Karl, with a ‘K’. He wore a nametag.”

“Wow. Quick remembering...”

“I want to be an actress,” I reply. “I did a few commercials as a child and had to learn how to memorize things quickly. I was doing lead roles by middle school and got to play Annie.” I shrug. “Memorization comes easily to me.”

“Well, that could be helpful to us,” Olivia encourages. “Then what happened next, after Karl showed you to the bathroom? Did you end up using the bathroom or did the man follow you in there quickly?” She senses my anxiety before she reaches out to take my hand. “I know it’s not easy, and I can’t begin to imagine what’s going through your mind, but please, tell me.”

I lower my eyes then, and feel my hands shaking. “He pinned me to the bathroom counter after I washed my hands,” I say quietly. “He got my hands wrapped around my waist and pinned them at the base of my waist. He... He ripped my tights,” I say, pulling up my skirt ever so slightly to show her the damage done by the perfect stranger. I let go of the skirt at the sight of blood, shivering as I feel a new set of tears coming.

“Take your time,” Olivia says, jotting a few things down on one of those miniature notepads you can find at any drug store check-out.

“He forced himself inside me, and then he managed to wrap his other hand up around my body and managed to clamp my mouth shut while holding my neck in place...” More tears form as I force myself to get the words out. “He wanted me to watch him rape me,” I whisper.

“Very good,” Olivia says, shaking her head at my plight. “Did he do anything else after that?”

“He laughed when I started crying,” I confess. “He slapped my ass a few times and that’s when...” My eyes widen then, recalling something.

“What, Maggie?” Olivia asked. “What happened?”

“He _spoke_ to me,” I whisper. “I’m just remembering it now...I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Olivia assures me. “People who are raped will frequently remember key details later. Do you remember what he said?”

“He said, ‘Every first time’s gotta be special. Bet you’re happy it was me, huh? I wanna thank you for being so sweet to me’. Then he said, ‘Hit me up sometime’, and put his number in my hand... I think I dropped it into my purse...”

Olivia’s eyes widen then as she immediately pulls a pair of disposable gloves onto her hands and grabs an evidence bag. She searches my purse, finding the scrap of paper with a number written in Sharpie. “Great,” she says, putting it into the evidence bag. “We’ll call the number, see what we can get, if we can manage to dust it for fingerprints.”

I nod. “Thanks, Olivia,” I reply.

She returns my nod. “Don’t mention it. Just doing my job.”

. . .

The doctors were very gentle and understanding with me that day, and were able to give me some drugs not only to calm me down, but also to prevent pregnancy and STD’s. Part of me was reluctant to take the anti-pregnancy pill, as I called it, but I ultimately decided against it. I didn’t want to be world-famous for getting raped and then keeping my rapists’ baby. I’d known of people who had done that, and I am sure the mental complications that ensued were lifelong. I was extremely grateful to Det. Olivia Benson, who took me and my mother out for dinner at this wonderful French restaurant called Le Bernardin, where she was an old friend of Chef _É_ ric Ripert. I told her of my dream of becoming an actress and she was very interested in my theatrical productions throughout high school, but I felt as if I was no longer passionate about it on the whole.

I was told that the rapist had been caught and, since I was still a minor, I was permitted—after picking him out from a line-up—to give a video-taped statement to the district attorney so as I wouldn’t have to testify in court. As soon as that was signed and sealed, I said goodbye to Det. Benson and flew back to Seattle from New York, anxious to complete the rest of my summer vacation in peace. Upon my return home, I officially wrote a letter to The Julliard School of Drama, where I’d been accepted, and wrote them that I would not be attending, apologizing most profusely, but decided, ultimately, that acting wasn’t my true path.

Naturally, my lawyer father and my plastic surgeon mother didn’t take too kindly to me shirking my supposed life-long dream. I managed to stay out of their hair for about a week, due to their heavy summer workload, and when the whole topic of a family meeting loomed large, I was ready. I’d done the necessary research, and suffice it to say when Jay-Jay and Stella joined us as well—Jay-Jay having just completed his Master’s Degree in Medicine, and Stella, her Bachelor’s Degree in Law—none of them were expecting what I was going to say. Just as my parents were about to launch into a tirade, I began to speak.

“Yes, I said no to Julliard, there’s no hiding that,” I said calmly. “However, I do have a plan. I’ve done the necessary research and I’ve been officially accepted into the Law Enforcement Academy of Seattle. I’m going to be a cop.”

My father’s jaw dropped. “What?”

“You can’t be serious!” my mother twittered.

“It’s dangerous work, Maggie,” Stella put in.

“Cool,” Jay-Jay had to say.

“Before you say anything else, I spent the last week preparing for the LSAT, just to see how well I could do. I scored a 180,” I say softly.

Stella gasped. “I scrapped by with a 165, and I crammed for weeks. You only studied for a week and got a 180?!” she cried, jealous.

I shrugged. “Memorization always came easily to me,” I reply. “I’m planning on getting a Bachelor’s, at the very least, in Criminal Law. I want to be a police detective, ultimately, and plan to rise through the ranks as my superiors see fit. I know it’s crazy, but since my attack, I want to help people. I don’t just want to make people laugh and cry—that’s not my goal. But this, combined with my private French lessons and Spanish courses at school, I’m a worthy candidate. I faxed over my transcript the other day, and they’re very impressed with me. They are more than willing to accommodate me taking Criminal Law courses while getting my police license, and it’ll shave off one year of education. I’ll be done and on patrol within two years.”

“Criminal Law doesn’t take _only_ two years,” Stella says, rather smugly, crossing her arms and looking rather pleased with herself.

I fix a smile upon my face. “I know. But I’m going to take on double the workload and get the degree in two years instead of three.”

“Honey, you don’t need to convince us,” Dad says with a smile. “It seems as if you’ve put a lot of thought into this, and we can afford it. Hell, it’ll be a lot cheaper than Julliard. You’re going in-state.”

“Hey!” Jay-Jay says, mock-hurt. “I thought you were happy I got into Columbia and Stella was doing Yale...”

“Of course we are,” Mom says quickly. “I guess...”

“Mom?” I ask, peering closer at her. “Do you think being a cop is a man’s job? I mean, I know some people would consider at doctor to be one as well...”

She sighs, shaking her head. “No, honey. I just always thought the spotlight is where you wanted to be...”

I shrug. “Fact is, things change, Mom. Sorry.”

. . .

The two years flew by, and within weeks of each other, I was given a degree in Criminal Law, as well as my official title of Officer Maggie Holbrook. After I was working in Seattle for about six weeks, I decided I would go to the superior officer to request a transfer. I set up a meeting to be held in late June, and knew full well it could be met with controversy. However, my grades in the academy, as well as my Criminal Law courses, we enough to turn the officer’s head. Although he was a hard man, he seemed to sense something within me, and I was allowed to transfer to New York after the summer.

I had been asked a year and a half ago to be Maid of Honor in Stella’s wedding; I knew I had to at least stay in Seattle for that. Stella’s husband, Baxter, was a lovely, albeit safe, man for Stella to marry. Baxter had known the family for years and was Jay-Jay’s best friend growing up. He had just completed his residency at a local hospital, and had elected to be a pediatrician. Baxter and Stella were formally married in mid-July, just weeks before I was due—at last—to finally make my move to New York.

Stella wore an organza dress with a tulle skirt and thin little spaghetti straps, her blonde curls cascading down her back. A small tiara made of pearls, to go with her wedding ring, rested in the dead-center of her head, a thin veil encrusted with pearls as well resting behind it. Her pale pink lips contrasted to the lovely dress and, of course, her fancy church shoes went along for the ride as well. Her fingers and toes matched her lips, and her eyes were given the smoky affect that all the supermodels seemed to want.

Baxter was done up in a traditional suit, and stood beside his Best Man, Jay-Jay, as well as my ex-boyfriend, Jasper, who I had seen for a few months in my first year of college and the academy. Jasper was now a firefighter and had spurned my dream of joining the force, more of the mind that women belonged in the kitchen than wielding the barrel of a gun. He was now dating, coincidentally enough, a bridesmaid of Stella’s called Courtney, who just so happened to be a member of Stella’s college sorority.

The ceremony was lavish and wonderful, even to a rather cynical twenty-year-old like me. We said our goodbyes as Stella and Baxter drove off to the cruise ship Downtown which would take them to Hawaii and then to the Caribbean for two months. I found I was not jealous as Jay-Jay went off with Jasper and Courtney, all of whom shared a condo up north when Jay-Jay was in town. I waved them off before climbing in my own car, prepared to follow my parents’ home. I knew they would keep my car safe for me until I made detective, because, as I’m sure you all know, nobody drives in New York.

. . .

The day had finally arrived and as I boarded the plane a little after 6:00 a.m., I wished that I could’ve said a better goodbye to my mother. The night before, they had held a going-away party in my honor, with the all-new program of Skype assisting Stella and Baxter in being there. Jay-Jay, Jasper, Courtney, my parents, both sets of grandparents—Mom’s parents, Josephine and Robert, also known as Grandma and Grandpa were there, along with Dad’s parents, Marie and Frank, also known as Grand’Mere and Pop-Pop—as well as other miscellaneous friends over the years came to party as well.

I found myself sitting alone, reflecting on all that had happened after graduating from high school. I’d been to New York; been assaulted; turned down Julliard; gone to police academy; graduated from police academy; gotten a degree in Criminal Law; been a police officer; and now I was going to New York to live out my dream of becoming a detective. Things had come full circle; I’d been born in New York, after all, so it seemed fitting that I was moving back, right?

“This is your pilot speaking; we are now landing in New York. Please put your tray tables into their upright positions as we make our decent into LaGuardia Airport. It is a lovely seventy-five degrees here in New York this afternoon; the local time is approximately 1:37 p.m.; we’ll be landing in about ten or fifteen minutes. We thank you for flying with Delta Airlines today, and we hope you’ll choose us the next time you fly.”

I stretched my legs out in front of me; I’d gotten a first-class ticket and was glad I’d splurged ever so slightly; taking a nap in a coach seat was brutal! When the seatbelt sign flickered off, and once we’d landed properly on the runway, and we were given permission to do so, I hopped to my feet. Slipping my carry-on bag over my shoulder, I popped open the overhead compartment and retrieved my duffel bag from up top. Slipping in line with the rest of the first-class passengers, I waited until the okay was given and slipped out with them and made my way in the direction of baggage claim.

I got one of those cart-like contraptions and put my duffel onto it, pushing it along until we arrived at baggage claim. I soon found my luggage set and slipped the small, medium, and large bags onto it before tying my sweater around my waist and going outside to the pickup area. A taxi was waiting and the driver helped me with my bags before I got in and gave him the address to my new penthouse apartment near Central Park. The whole ride was no more than twenty minutes and the ride was less than thirty dollars; I gave the cabbie a fifty and told him to keep the change; he seemed shocked and delighted.

“What do you do?” he asked as we exited the cab together and as the doorman summoned some bellboys to step forward and help with my bags.

I grin at him. “I’m a cop,” I reply, sticking out my hand at him. “Officer Maggie Holbrook. Nice to meet you.”

“Danny Catalini,” he replies. “Good to meet you.”

I wave goodbye to Danny and slip inside with the bellboys, nodding at the doorman in thanks for letting me in. We walk towards the elevator and I tell them that my address is 220 Central Park, the Penthouse Suite, and they look at each other in shock. I manage to suppress a giggle as we step inside and ride up to the seventeenth floor. I have my key already and quickly unlock the door, telling them to just place the bags in the living room; I had them each a twenty before they leave and they look very pleased with themselves.

I decide to unpack then, and—after three hours—my new home looks wonderful. I then decide to take a much-needed shower, and then decide since that it is only Friday night and I don’t work until Monday, I’ll treat myself to dinner out. After hooking up my computer, my hair meanwhile drying in a towel atop my head, I look up local restaurant (as Yelp would not be invented for another year). I find one called The Carlyle Restaurant, located in The Rosewood Hotel, and decide to give that a try. I pull on a black strapless dress that I own, along with a pair of heels and a wrap, before putting a coordinated purse over my arm. Liking what I see, I pull a brush through my mostly-dry hair, tossing it a little for good measure before putting on some makeup and heading out.

I hail a cab to take me down to the restaurant and slip inside, to a mad house. I bite my lip, wondering what I’m going to do; not only am I starving, but there seem to be no tables open. I’m just about to leave when a gentleman in his forties comes forward from a table in the center of the dining room and pats the _maître d_ on the shoulder. He nods towards me and I step forward; there is something about this man, and something tells me that I know him.

“Maggie?” the man asks, stepping forward.

I nod. “Yeah, that’s me. I know you...”

He grins. “It’s Det. Stabler,” he says, putting out his hand. “Call me Elliot. What are you doing back in New York?”

“I live here,” I reply. “I just moved back today.”

“School?” he asks. “Liv, my partner, told me that you were really into acting and that’s how you remembered all of the details of your case.”

I shake my head. “No, that dream died long ago.” I raise my hand upwards and salute him. “Officer Maggie Holbrook at your service, Elliot.”

Elliot claps a hand on my shoulder. “Good for you!” he says. “Hey, the department and I are having some dinner. Liv’s here, the captain, plus detectives Fin and Munch and our psychiatrist, Dr. George Huang and Casey Novak, our ADA. Why don’t you come over? We’re just having drinks now. Come join us.”

“Oh, I don’t know... I couldn’t...”

“Come on... You want to raise ranks, don’t you?”

I nod. “Yes. I want to make detective.”

He grins. “Well, come and schmooze then. It’ll look good, I promise.”

I sigh. “All right,” I say, taking his offered arm. “I mean, if you really insist that I do.”

“Come on,” Elliot says, pulling me over. “You’re one of us now.” He takes me to the table, where I’m shocked to see a place has already been provided for me. “Liv, look who I found,” Elliot says to Det. Benson.

“Maggie!” Det. Benson cries, getting to her feet and standing awkwardly. “I’d give you a hug, but...”

I shrug, grinning then. “I love hugs, really.”

“Great,” Det. Benson says, pulling me into a hug. She’s let her hair grow out some, complete with pale brown highlights; she looks amazing. She pulls back and looks me up and down. “You look good,” she proclaims.

“Thanks,” I reply. “I’m an officer now.”

“No acting?” she asks, putting me into a middle seat, between her and Elliot. “I thought that was your dream...”

“You’re sweet to remember, detective,” I reply.

“Olivia, please,” she says.

“Oliva, you’re sweet to remember. But I decided to become a cop within weeks of going to Seattle. So I got that, plus a Criminal Law degree, and graduated the academy in two years. I want to make detective in a couple of years, and I thought I’d joint New York’s Finest in the meantime. So here I am. I just told Elliot that I moved here today—this afternoon, in fact.” I turn to the table then. “It’s so nice to meet more individuals involved with the Special Victims’ Unit.”

A balding man who could easily be six-feet fall, smiles; he has kind, dark brown eyes and wears an elegant and stylish suit. “Capt. Donald Cragen, call me Don,” he says, nodding at me. “From the way Elliot and Olivia talk about you, you have an amazing memory, Maggie.”

“Thank you, Don,” I say. “That’s so nice of you to say.”

“John Munch,” says the man next to him; he has salt and pepper hair, glasses, and a leather-like face, though he smiles, making his brown eyes look kind. While his suit is not as stylish as Don’s, he still dresses well. “I worked Homicide before SVU, so let me know if you want any pointers.”

“Thank you, John,” I say, smiling.

“Odafin Tutuola,” says the African American to John’s left.

I raise my eyebrows. “Wow, that’s certainly not a name you hear every day, now is it?” I ask, much to the amusement of everyone at the table.

“Call me Fin,” he replies, in order to keep from laughing. His hair has been slicked back and hangs in a short, braided ponytail resting just above his dress shirts’ collar. He wears no tie, just a dinner jacket and a dress shirt with, I’m assuming, matching pants.

“Casey Novak,” says the woman beside Olivia. She has strawberry blonde hair and dark blue eyes; although she smiles and appears friendly, she also seems to possess a no-nonsense attitude. “Great to meet you, Maggie.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Casey,” I reply, turning to George Huang. “And you must be the esteemed Dr. Huang. We were reading your dissertations of your argument of a heterosexual couple raising children versus a homosexual couple in the Criminal Law class. Fascinating work, sir; I applaud you.”

He seems touched; he is of Asian descent and has black eyes, a straight nose, and thin lips. “Call me George, please, Maggie,” he replies. “I’ll probably want to pick your brain at some point, but tell me this: Are there any other lawyers in your family?”

“Yes, I wondered that, too,” Casey puts in.

“Yes, two,” I reply. “My father is a lawyer and my older sister is a lawyer. Both Yale Law alumni,” I say, blushing. “My sister wasn’t too happy with my LSAT score, I’ll be honest,” I say, letting out a nervous giggle.

“I did fine, above average,” Casey says. “I got a 175, which is ten points above what most law schools look for...”

“Stella got 165,” I reply. “She was very upset about my 180 score, probably due to the fact that she crammed for months and I did the studying in one weekend.” I shrug. “But, what can you do? I’m adopted.”

“Adopted?” Olivia asks, her brows knitting together.

I nod. “Yes. I don’t know anything about my birth family, other than my mother was eighteen and I was born in New York.” I shrug. “Doesn’t matter; I’m happy. I also want to know some detective secrets,” I say. “Tell me all.”

. . .

Elliot asked to walk me back to my place after dinner and I accepted. As we walked he told me some more about the department and when he got to my door, I invited him in. He accepted and came up with me, and I showed him to my living room and we sat on the same couch.

“Can I ask something personal?” I ask him.

He nods. “Sure.”

“I remember that you wore a wedding ring...”

He sighs and nods. “Yeah. My wife and I separated in January. She took the kids, we’ve got four. It’s a long story.”

I find myself taking his hand. “I’m so sorry... What are your kids like?”

He smiles a little at that. “Well, first there was Maureen—we accidentally got pregnant with her in high school. I married Kathy and joined the Marines before joining the force. Then there was Kathleen, then our twins, Richard and Elizabeth who are just the most rambunctious little monsters...”

“I notice you didn’t say ‘devils’,” I say softly. “You’re Catholic?”

He nods. “I am.”

I nod. “Me, too.”

He lowers his eyes, taking his thumb and tracing my knuckles with his finger. “I’m sure you left a brokenhearted guy back in Seattle...”

I shake my head. “No. The last guy I dated has already moved on; it was almost a year ago now.” I shrug. “I don’t date much.”

“Huh,” Elliot says, processing that information. His eyes lock with mine, and I sense something pass between us then. He leans in and kisses me, and I find myself kissing him back. He reaches out and brings my arms up around his neck, and I find the charge that passes between us to be electric. He leans me back down onto the couch and I lock my legs around his waist, not caring how this makes me look in the slightest. “Where’s your...?”

“Down the hall to the left,” I reply.

Effortlessly, Elliot lifts me to him and carries me to my bedroom, putting me down upon my bed and proceeding to take off my clothes. I sit up then and untie his tie and help him in throwing off his dinner jacket. He gets out of his pants and soon is standing there in nothing but an undershirt and a pair of boxers; and I felt my desire ebb within me. I’d quickly done the math, and it didn’t matter that I was five years younger than his daughter; we both wanted this. I dug in my nightstand drawer and got him out a condom (I’d been on the pill since I was sixteen and never skipped one) and lay back, naked, waiting for him. He undressed fully and climbed on top of me, adjusting himself and putting the rubber onto his appendage, a devilish smile framing his lips.

I return the smile as he angles himself appropriately, and then he is suddenly inside me, and I let out a yelp at how good and satisfying it feels. “Elliot,” I whisper over and over again.

After two hours of heady lovemaking, I slip on a pair of underwear and a T-shirt as Elliot dresses himself. I walk him to the door, pulling on a sweater as I go, and open it up for him. He turns around then, the same look in his eyes. “We’ll have to do this again sometime,” he tells me.

I nod. “I’d like that.” I stand on my toes and kiss him; I feel delicious inside as he pulls me firmly by my waist to taste every bit of me. When he lets me go, I let out a sad little sigh of yearning, but he tilts my chin up.

“I got your number, don’t worry,” he says with a smile. “I’ll call you soon. Okay? I promise, Maggie.”

I smile back. “I know.”

“Goodnight, Maggie.” He leans down to kiss me again.

I keep ahold of his hand as he walks away from me, waving to him. “Goodnight, Elliot,” I reply.


	2. Shock of a Lifetime

I arrived at the precinct early on Monday morning, about ten or fifteen minutes before I was due to start my shift. I went to the front desk and gave my name, and was told to go upstairs to meet with the captain, whose name, I was told, was Joseph Harrison. I thanked the receptionist and took the elevator up to the eleventh floor and went into a lobby, where I gave my name to a second receptionist. I was told to sit and wait, and took a cushioned bench up against the wall, taking off my policeman’s cap and crossing my ankles.

Within a few moments, the door of the office opened; in gold plate letters, the letters which formed the words CAPTAIN HARRISON were nailed to the door. A young woman who looked to be a year or two older than me, who had her straight blonde hair tied back in a tight bun, looked annoyed as she spoke to the captain, biting her pink lop-glossed lip.

“I _don’t_ want some out-of-state rookie, Captain!” she yelled. “Come on! You know me better than that!”

“You’ll take who you’ve been reassigned to, Collins. That’s an order.” He looks past her to me, and looks me up and down. “Margaret Holbrook?”

I get to my feet and put out my hand. “Maggie,” I reply, flashing him a polite smile and looking past him to the woman he called Collins and back to him as he shakes my hand. “So, I suppose I’m the out-of-state rookie?”

“Yes, I apologize for these circumstances,” he says, looking at the woman with steely eyes. “Samantha Collins, meet your new partner, Maggie.”

I decide to be polite and put out my hand to her. “Nice to meet you, Samantha. It’s an honor to serve with New York’s Finest.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t try and get all cozy and buddy-buddy with me,” she snaps back at me, leaving the captain’s office.

“I do apologize for her, Maggie. She’s my niece,” he explains, standing back and allowing me into the office and shutting the door behind him. “I received a call from an old academy friend of mine over the weekend,” he tells me, crossing the room and taking a seat at his desk, indicating for me to do the same. “Do you know a Donald Cragen?”

“Manhattan Special Victims’ Unit,” I reply. “They took a case of mine back when I was vacationing here two years ago. I think my former captain made mention of it in the file...”

Captain Harrison opens my file and skims it and nods. “Oh, yeah, I read about that all right.” He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry to hear that your first trip to New York ended in such a bad situation.”

“Oh, I was born in New York, sir,” I reply, smiling. “My mother and father raised my two older siblings here for almost a decade when they found out they couldn’t have any more children, so they adopted me when I was two months old. We moved from New York to Seattle when my father’s firm decided to expand to the West Coast.”

“So you’ve got the law on your side, then?” Captain Harrison asks.

I nod. “I suppose I do, sir.”

“You also must have deception on your side as well, due to the fact that your mother is a plastic surgeon.”

“Or renewal,” I say with an innocent smile.

Captain Harrison smiles tightly at that. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He looks over the files before him and nods. “Okay, everything seems to be in order.” He raises his eyes to mine. “Your captain back in Seattle—it was Captain Rhonda Briggs, wasn’t it?”

I nod. “Yeah, she was amazing.”

“Yeah, she’s actually from here as well—Yonkers,” he explains. “We did the academy together but then she got married and decided to move out to the West Coast, rather like your family.”

I nod a second time. “Amazing woman.”

“She’s spoken very highly of you... It says here that you want to try to make detective within two or three years.”

I grin. “It’s my dream,” I admit.

Captain Harrison nods. “And we like to make dreams come true here.” He opens the top drawer of his desk and takes out a silver shield; NEW YORK STATE POLICE is printed on the top, while OFFICER HOLBROOK is printed on the bottom. “And here is your badge,” he says, handing it over.

I nod and pin it onto my uniform. “Thank you.”

He gets to his feet and I move to do the same. “Hat on,” he says, a glimmer of kindness in his eyes.

I put my hat on and wait.

Captain Harrison reaches out and shakes my hand. He then puts his hand to his forehead and salutes me solemnly. “Welcome to the New York State Police, Officer Holbrook,” he says.

“Thank you, Captain Harrison,” I reply. “It’s an honor.”

. . .

After signing the mandatory transfer paperwork, I make my way to the break room where I soon manage to find Samantha, standing by the window, sipping some takeaway coffee. I step inside, waving casually to her, and she nods to the table beside her, where there is a vegetable plate, a fruit platter, a cheese plate, and a tray of baked goods. There is also the option of coffee, tea, and hot chocolate to drink; I take two cubes of cheddar cheese and pour myself a cup of tea—black tea, two sugars, no milk—and make my way over to Samantha. Peering outside, I see she is checking out the traffic on the freeway across town.

“Listen, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry you didn’t have any kind of say in who your new partner is,” I say quietly. “I don’t want there to be any bad blood between us, so if you want me to step up and ask for someone else—even though it would look bad on my record—I won’t complain.”

Samantha sighs, turning slightly to look me over. “Captain actually tore me a new one after you had to go down to the file room to sign the transfer paperwork,” she confesses as I sip my tea. “He let me take a peek into your file—which is strictly against the rules, but he’s my uncle—and I saw your commendation despite only being on the force a short time. Said that you entered the academy at eighteen and got a degree in Criminal Law simultaneously, and then graduated just six months ago. Do you know how crazy awesome that is?”

I let out a small snort. “Wow, thanks. That means a lot...” I let that settle for a moment before asking, “How long you been on the force?”

“Six years,” she replies. “I plan to go out for detective in the next four, but I have other commitments.”

“Oh?” I ask, chewing and swallowing a cheese cube. “I understand if you don’t want to discuss it, but we are going to be partners...”

She nods. “Yeah, I know, it’s cool. I actually have a son.”

“Oh!” I feel my eyebrows shoot up. “But you’re so...”

“Young?” she laughs, and I know they she is being genuine. “Well, Chris is a good boy, really. He’s turning seven this year. I had him when I was twenty-two. I did the academy on a whim after I graduated high school at sixteen and got my associate’s and bachelor’s degrees.”

“What did you get a degree in?” I want to know.

“Criminal Law, like you,” Samantha tells me. “Apparently, you and I were top of our classes, according to the records.”

I smile. “That’s amazing, Samantha.”

“Thanks. I worked hard for everything I had in life; I came from money, too, but I refused to have it spoon-fed to me after I graduated high school. My parents paid my tuition, but as for living arrangements, I moved out after eighteen after working at an office for two years after my first graduation. Room and board were always taken care of, and after Tommy, my now-fiancé, went to Iraq, I knew I had to step up completely.”

“He’s in Iraq? That’s great,” I reply.

Samantha fixes me with a look. “No judgement— You a Republican?”

I laugh, nearly choking on my tea. “No. Democrat. I don’t approve about what happened when Bill Clinton was in office—the whole Monica Lewinsky thing is enough not to want to trust anyone—but I wouldn’t vote for George W. Bush if you paid me.”

She nods. “Good to know.”

“What about you? You a Democrat?”

“Yes,” she replies. “I support our troops, but not the war.”

“That’s exactly how I feel,” I reply. “We’re interfering where we really don’t belong, for all the wrong reasons.”

Just then, her walkie beeps and she checks it. “Oh, we gotta go,” she says, tossing what’s left of her coffee in the trash as I move to follow her, throwing my jacket on over myself and tossing away my tea all in one go. I offer her some strawberry-scented hand sanitizer and she accepts it, gratefully.

We head outside to the parking lot and she dives over to a car, unlocking it and motioning for me to get the hell over to the passenger seat. I dive inside and I make a grab for the radio at her word, saying, “Car 7471 en route,” I reply. “Request for backup answered.”

“Car 7471, thank you for your cooperation. Who am I speaking to?”

“Officer Holbrook, badge number 51470, in pursuit,” I reply.

“It’s an accident through here,” the voice on the radio says. “Special Victim’s Unit has already been called—it looks like a child was injured.”

“Two minutes out,” Samantha whispers to me, navigating through traffic with our lights on.

“Two minutes out,” I say into the radio.

“Thank you, Officer Holbrook,” the voice says.

We arrive in less than a minute and a half to the scene and dash out. I notice that none of the detectives for Special Victim’s Unit are there yet, and I am told by Samantha and the acting officer on the scene to go and check on the child. It is a Caucasian female, who is curled slightly into a fetal position and is lying on her side on a stretcher. Biting my lip, I make my way over towards her, giving her a small smile as I approach.

“Hi, I’m Maggie,” I tell her gently. “What’s your name?”

“Edythe,” she says quietly. “With a ‘Y’, not an ‘I’.”

“Well, that’s a very pretty name,” I tell her. “How old are you?”

“Seven,” she says.

“Wow, you’re a very big girl,” I tell her with a smile. “How are you doing?” I take in her injuries; from what I’d learned about anatomy from peering at my mother’s patient notes and Jay-Jay’s medical textbooks, she seemed to have some minor head trauma, due to the medium-sized gash on her forehead, which was being treated by the responding EMT’s.

“Okay... My head hurts,” she said quietly, reaching upwards to touch it.

“No, Edythe, you can’t touch it,” I tell her gently. “You could get an infection if you touch it—you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

She nods, biting her lip, attempting to be brave. “Would you hold my hand, please?” she asks, tears welling in her silver eyes.

I nod, smiling at her. “Of course.” I reached out and took her hand; I had minored in psychology, mainly with children, in college, and I knew that it was always good to comfort a child who is in distress. “Better?”

She gives a tiny nod. “Yes.”

I give her an encouraging smile. “Good. We want you to be comfortable.”

She lowers her eyes. “My mommy was hurt,” she says softly.

I raise my eyebrows. “I’m sorry, Edythe, really...”

“She went through the windshield,” she whispers. “Glass went everywhere... I got scared, so I crouched behind the seat... Glass is dangerous...”

I nod down at her. “That’s right. You could get serious cuts.” I hesitate for a moment, but I know that I shouldn’t stop her from talking. “Was your mommy driving the car?”

She shakes her head. “Jake was driving,” she replies.

“Who’s Jake, then?” I ask.

“Mommy’s boyfriend,” she replies, suddenly not making eye contact with me and picking the side of the canvas on the stretcher; there is a loose thread there, and she seems suddenly very interested in it. “He does bad things...”

“What kind of bad things?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I don’t know...”

“Does he call you bad names?” I ask her.

She sighs, then says, “Yes.”

I nod. “What kind of bad names does he call you?”

“He calls me ‘stupid’,” she replies. “That’s not nice, is it?”

I shake my head. “No, sweetheart, that’s not nice. Does Jake ever call you any other bad names?”

She sighs. “He called me a ‘bitch’ once,” she says, whispering the offending word, almost as if she’ll offend me by saying it. “That was before he slammed my head down on the floor.”

I nearly pull away from her in shock. “What did Mommy do when he did that?” I ask her, hoping that her mom swooped in to rescue her.

“She laughed, said it was a game,” Edythe tells me.

I bite my lip from the nasty comment that threatened to escape my lips. “Is that all Jake ever did to you?”

“No.” She shakes her head.

“What else did he do?”

She sighs, plaintively. “He started putting his hand down there—” She indicated the area between her legs, “—back when it was close to Halloween.” _October_. “I tried to tell him that I’d tell Mommy, but he said that she wouldn’t believe me. I got scared, so I stayed quiet.”

“Is that all Jake did?” I manage to get out.

“No.” Edythe shakes her head. “He took out his thingy once and told me that it would taste good if I put it in here,” she said, pointing to her mouth. “Then when I wouldn’t do it, he forced it in me, so I bite it. Blood went everywhere, and I got scared again. Then he took off my pants and put it inside me, between my legs, and it hurt... There was more blood too, and he got madder...”

“Was that the only time Jake hurt you like that?” I ask her.

She shook her head. “No.”

“When did he start doing that?”

“Before Christmas, after Thanksgiving,” she replies. “I know it was December because Mommy changed the calendar in my bedroom.”

I nod. The sick son of a bitch had been abusing his girlfriend’s daughter for almost a year and it had gone undetected. Turning around then, I see Elliot and Olivia pulling up, and Elliot has a secret smile for me that Olivia doesn’t see. “I have to leave you now, Edythe,” I say softly. “But some nice people are going to talk to you, okay?”

“No!” Edythe screams, pulling away from the doctors and throwing her arms around me as Olivia and Elliot step closer.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” I ask as Olivia and Elliot come up behind me. “Are you okay?”

“He’ll do it, like Jake,” she said, nodding at Elliot.

Olivia, thankfully, steps in. “Well, why don’t I sit with you while Maggie goes and talks to Elliot?” she asks, giving me an understanding smile.

“Olivia’s really nice,” I reply, consolingly, to Edythe. “I promise.”

“Is she your friend?” Edythe asks, regarding Olivia warily.

“I... Well,” I say, thrown.

“Yes. We are friends,” Olivia says, shooting me a smile and going over to be with Edythe. “Go on with Elliot,” she says softly to me, and I slip away as Olivia asks Edythe what her favorite color is.

“Get anything out of her besides that kind of trivial information?” Elliot asks, indicating Olivia’s question.

I sigh. “Yeah, and it’s not good...”

“Well, she’s been abused, that’s evident,” Elliot replies. “Mom’s boyfriend?”

I nod. “Yeah, but her mother, too. Her mother knew about it, Elliot. She witnessed it for god’s sake!”

“You’re kidding,” Elliot says.

I shake my head. “No. She’s witnessed physical abuse—that’s what Edythe says. I would seriously bet money that Edythe’s mother witnessed Jake raping her, but she’s either too scarred or too ashamed to admit it.” I turn around and regard Edythe, speaking to Olivia. “She’ll get it out of her, right?”

“Olivia’s the best,” Elliot assures me, then looks me up and down. “You’re a lot like her, you know that?”

. . .

Due to my success with Edythe—whose mother was subsequently arrested, along with Jake, and quickly sentenced to fifteen years (along with her parental rights revoked) was given half the sentence that Jake was, who got an additional five years for endangering the welfare of a child—Olivia and Elliot called upon me close to Christmas. I’d been in New York for two months and saw Elliot more often than Olivia; at least four to six nights a week, Elliot found his way to my penthouse and into my bedroom, as well as in between my sheets. I didn’t mind but we respected each other enough not to blab it out to the whole department; him because he wasn’t divorced and me because I didn’t want to be accused of sleeping with someone to get ahead.

The department got some time off for Christmas, and I used my time a lot on my laptop at home on Amazon in order to get each and every one of my family members things for Christmas. I even got Elliot a new button-down shirt for work, which I intended to present to him at an appropriate time—more than likely after a steamy lovemaking session. Elliot and Olivia showed up at my place at around seven-thirty at night; I was only wearing a pair of sweat pants, a baggy, long-sleeved shirt, and slippers. My hair was freshly washed, hanging wet and loose down my back, and I hurried to pull on a sweater as they arrived.

“How can I help you?” I asked, flushing from head to toe. “Can I get you anything to drink? Or are you on duty?”

“Water’s great,” Olivia said, and Elliot nodded.

I got them their water and perched on the opposite couch, the very couch where Elliot and I had had many an encounter, although that first night was forever burned onto my subconscious. “So, how are you both?”

“Relax, Maggie, you’re not in any trouble,” Olivia tells me with a smile. “We’re not only here on some house call, though.”

“Okay.” I tuck one leg beneath the other. “What’s going on?”

“Liv told me about your acting abilities and thought that you’d be perfect to go undercover at a church,” Elliot replied easily.

“Isn’t undercover work strictly for detectives only?” I ask.

“Normally yes, Maggie, but since Elliot tells me that you’re Catholic and I know that you have acting chops, we need you on this one,” Olivia tells me. “Besides, we have the clear from both our captains.”

“I see,” I reply.

“And they would excuse you from active duty if this goes on for a significant period of time,” Elliot tells me. “This would also look favorable for a sooner promotion if it goes well.”

“Sooner?” I ask.

“Six months, give or take,” Olivia tells me. “You could be taking the detective’s exam by March 2008 if you help us.”

I sigh a little. “Mind if I ask what the mission is before I commit to anything?” I ask softly.

“Sure thing,” Elliot says. “You’re going to go undercover in a church to investigate Father Benedict Michaels.”

“I can’t see this ending well,” I reply.

“It doesn’t,” Olivia replies. “There have been rumors that he’s been molesting altar boys.”

“No...” I whisper.

“’Fraid so,” Elliot replies. “We’ve had a lot of complaints but the boys aren’t doing any of the complaining—it’s the parents.”

“Which is hearsay and therefore not admissible in a court of law,” I say, shaking my head. “Great. Well, okay. I’ll do it.”

“Just like that?” Olivia asks.

I smile at her. “Hey, I want to make detective so that I can get scum off the street just like you two do— The sooner the better, right?”

Elliot made up some excuse to stay behind after he and Olivia talked over what I was going to do. Inevitably, we ended up in my bedroom again, and he was twisting his fingers in my dark brown hair. I leaned up against his strong chest and loved the feeling of his arms around me, his other hand running up and down my back. He had been gentle this evening; many nights, when he’d been so stressed from the sick bastards that he had to arrest every day, he’s take me roughly, and, while just as pleasurable, he seemed want to get the job done quickly in order to say that we had done it. It was so much better when it was like this—easy, sweet, when he took his time.

“Father Benedict Michaels... Sounds to me like he changed his name in order to attempt to hide behind it,” I say softly into his chest.

Elliot chuckles; the delicious sound ripples through him and causes my body to shudder ever so slightly. “Is that your mind at work?”

I nod; I shift so as I am putting some weight upon my arm so as I can stare down at him in the semi-darkness. “Can we be serious for a moment?”

His eyes investigate my face then, almost as if I am a brand new case for him to try to crack. “Sure.”

I sigh. “What are we doing?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Ell...”

“What?”

I bite my lip. “I’m not looking for it down a silver platter or anything... But do you see you ever getting back with Kathy?”

“Maggie...”

“No, seriously. I want to know. I mean, how do you even feel about me? I don’t want a declaration of love or anything like that—it’s way too soon. But you’re technically still married to her, Elliot...”

He sighs; it is a full-body effort. “Would I have left Kathy myself? Or would I have stayed if she hadn’t left me? I don’t know. I’m pretty committed to this job as an SVU detective, Maggie. Suffice it to say that Kathy and I were having some significant communication problems before she left and took the kids. When you don’t communicate, a marriage can deteriorate. That’s what ours did... Do I see myself going back to her? I don’t know. At this point, I’d only try to make it work for the kids’ sake...”

“Is that enough?” I whisper.

He moves to shut off my bedside light; after he does so, he takes ahold of my waist and positions me on top of him. The sneaky bastard had already put on a condom while going on a tirade about his wife... “No, Maggie, it’s not enough. If Kathy and I are unhappy together, that unhappiness would filter into the kids. I can’t have that, not now, not ever...”

“And what do you intend to have now?” I ask.

He chuckles, pulling me fully on top of him; my hair creates a short of barricade between our faces and the outside world, and I sense that the sensation will tickle his throat. “I intend to have you, Maggie Holbrook,” he replies, proceeding to nibble my neck and ravish me completely.

. . .

The church I’d—or, rather, Sister Margaret Blenchingly—had been assigned to was called St. John’s and was located in the heart of Manhattan. It was one of those impressive old numbers that you could easily imagine seeing on an old English, Irish, or Scottish hilltop somewhere in the middle of town or far off in the country somewhere. The faded golden plaque beside the door to the entrance stated that it had been founded in 1743 and that the priest then had been Father James Royce, an unassuming name if I do say so myself.

I was put into a below-the-knee-length black skirt; stockings; black loafer-like shoes; a plain white blouse; a black sweater; a nun’s cap which consisted of white material tucked into a black hood which exposed the top of my hair; and my rosary, which was adorned with a silver cross and a necklace made of amethysts. I was armed with the false documentation of how I’d come from England—my accent had to be perfect—and about how I was intent to join this particular church. I stepped inside and was directed by another nun—who addressed herself as Sister Ruth Fairfax, who just so happened to be in the same clothing—who directed me to the back, where Father Benedict would be this afternoon. I thanked her and walked past the altar, crossing myself so as to look the part and slipped into the back of the church into the office.

I knocked at the door and, when given permission to do so, stepped inside. “Father Benedict,” I say, bowing my head in reverence, “what a pleasure.”

“Ah, and you must be Sister Margaret,” he said, getting to his feet and taking ahold of both my hands, which proved difficult due to the folder of paperwork I held. “A thousand welcomes to you.”

“I thank you, Father,” I replied, raising my eyes to his; his eyes were brown and his hair was salt and pepper; I would pinpoint his age in the late fifties or the early sixties. “I assume you will want to see the paperwork?”

“Of course.” He takes the folder from my outstretched hand and peers over the papers, spreading them out on his desk before him. “Ah, you worked for a time in County Cork in Ireland, but most of your time was spent at St. Anne’s, which was located in Suffolk in England?”

I nod. “That’s correct, Father. I ran one of the schoolrooms, so children anywhere from ages seven to twelve, I could handle.”

“How many children?”

“Anywhere from twenty to fifty,” I reply, reciting what my resume said.

He nods, turning to face me. “Very good. Sister Frances had to leave rather unexpectedly after her elder sister left the retirement home due to financial issues, I’m afraid. You’ll be taking over her class of nine and ten-year-old’s from nine in the morning until three in the afternoon. Minor discipline, you are permitted to deal with, but if it is a great offence—such as physical violence—you are to send them to Sister Mary, our Head Teacher, or to me. The girls are sent to her; the boys are sent to me.”

I nod at him. “Understood, Father.”

He returns my nod. “I am glad to hear it.” He smiles warmly. “Now, Sister Frances has just left this afternoon, so Sister Jane is looking over your class. You are to report there at once; I’ll escort you.”

He leads me from the room then and out in the back hallway, up the stairs, and down a corridor, where he makes a right and a left and finally we arrive at Room 209. He steps inside, and immediately, I notice that a great many of the boys go ridged in their desks while the girls look rather questioningly at me. I watch then as Father Benedict nods to Sister Jane, who says goodbye to the children and leaves the classroom after greeting me herself.

“Boys and girls, I am sure Sister Darnell informed you of Sister Frances’s unfortunate and abrupt departure,” he says, addressing them firmly; I take it that Sister Darnell is Sister Jane, and that the students are not to address any of us by our first names. “I am sure you also know that Sister Darnell is not to be your teacher, but that Sister Blenchingly, all the way from England, is to educate you herself.”

I step forward at his nod and smile at all of them. “Hello, children. My name is Sister Blenchingly, and it is most wonderful to be here, and just as wonderful to meet you. Now, first I would like to know all of your names, so please forgive me if I do not get them right the first time,” I say.

“I think my work is done here,” Father Benedict says softly.

“Goodbye, Father Benedict,” I reply. “Children, please bid Father Benedict farewell,” I say.

“Goodbye, Father Benedict,” they say, and I note how touched he seems before slipping from the room.

“Right, then,” I say, smiling at them all, taking up the clipboard with all of the children’s names on it. “Now, where is Grace Adams?”

“Right here, Sister Blenchingly,” says a girl with long blonde hair, which reminds me a bit of Stella as a child.

“Hello, Grace,” I say. “Next we have Andrew Anderson?”

“Here, Sister Blenchingly,” he says, adjusting his pale brown hair in an attempt to make a good first impression.

“Hello, Andrew,” I say. “Next... Henry Blakeley?”

“Here, Sister Blenchingly,” says Henry, grinning, his teeth pearly white against his deep brown skin.

“Hello, Henry,” I say to him. “Now we have Natalie Cox?”

. . .

It was many weeks that I was undercover before something happened. I would grow impatient during my nights with Elliot; lovemaking soon became a chore. I knew he wanted me to hurry up and make detective, but as 2006 dawned, I found no light at the end of the tunnel for my dream to come true. In the middle of March, I was becoming desperate for an end to all of this. I had sent the children to lunch at the appropriate hour and had just completed grading the history quiz I had given them on the Oregon Trail.

I decided to take a walk on the grounds and when I stepped outside, I was pleased to see that there was a break from the early spring rain. Stepping onto the path, I made my way down it carefully, not wanting to go sliding unceremoniously down the brick-red cobblestones. As I made my way down the heavy growth of trees which passed me by, I wondered if I could arrange a gardening party in order to successfully trim the overgrowth back as the days got warmer. However, I soon came to see just why certain people seemed to want them this way. As I neared a clearing, I looked inside automatically as I walked by, which is when I feel that the last of my childhood slipped away from me then.

“Father Benedict!” I screamed, shocked, forgetting my accent in my shock, and cursing myself for it. I was attached to a wire, so I knew that Elliot, Olivia, Fin, and John would soon be on the move.

There, in the clearing, center stage, was Father Benedict, straddling none other than Christopher Collins, Samantha’s son, who was in my class (he was two years ahead of all the other seven-year-olds) and whom I’d promised to protect to my partner, Samantha. Christopher’s pants were down and around his ankles, and Father Benedict was sodomizing him. Father Benedict was shocked at what I was seeing, but the shock soon turned into a smile. “Go back inside, Sister Margaret,” he said.

“No way in hell,” I said through my teeth, and advanced upon him then. I whipped out my badge and a pair of handcuffs, and successfully hauled him off the boy and cuffed him to a nearby tree. “Father Benedict, you’re under arrest for sodomizing Christopher Collins and more than likely numerous others,” I say, just as Elliot and Olivia come charging up.

“Good work,” Olivia says as I hand him off to them and quickly set Christopher to rights with a quick smile.

“Are you a nun?” little Christopher asks.

I smile, taking off my hood and allowing my hair to fall down below my shoulders and grip his hands tightly. “No. I’m a police officer.” I show him my badge. “I actually work with your mom. I’m her partner.”

He nods, his little face crumpling. “He hurt me,” he said, pointing to Father Benedict as Olivia hauls him away.

“I know, sweetheart. I am so sorry,” I reply.

He holds up his hands to be picked up and I do so willingly.

“Gotta get him to the hospital to be checked out,” I tell Elliot.

“I’ll drive,” he tells me.

. . .

I am called into Captain Harrison’s office as soon as Christopher is situated and hightail it to get across town, Elliot remaining by the little boy’s side. I am thankful that Elliot has brought my uniform for me to change into; Fin and John share a brief raised eyebrow exchange while Olivia seems to ignore it completely. I enter the domain of the unit and am shocked when all of my fellow officers are applauding me, and I shake my head at them all, smiling as I enter Captain Harrison’s office.

“Captain...” I begin, seeing his grave expression.

“You let a fellow officer’s son get molested,” he says, and I am thankful that as of right now, Samantha is probably at the hospital with him.

“Captain...”

“No, let me finish. I know that detectives are supposed to be the only ones allowed undercover, and in most situations, I can see why that is.” He sighs. “However, you showed perfect initiative these past few weeks. Cragen and I have discussed your efforts and have spoken to 1PP about it, and they’re in agreement with the arrangement put forth.”

“Sir?”

“You’ll be free to take the detective’s test in March 2008—two years from now—as we’ve mutually agreed on.”

“Oh, sir,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Thank you so much!”

He smiles. “So, in what division do you think you’ll pursue? Do you want to work at SVU?”

I sigh. “Maybe, one day,” I tell him. “But right now, I’m thinking about Homicide, actually.”

“Not Narcotics?” he jokes.

I shake my head. “Homicide.”

He nods. “Well, Captain Derrick Jennings from Homicide did the academy with me and with Cragen. I’ll put in a good word for you, and I’m sure Cragen will, too; I know you want this, Maggie, and you’ll get it.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

“Not everyone can deal with live victims,” he says as I shut the door behind me to everyone in the department surrounding me and offering up congratulations at taking a low-life pedophile off the street.

. . .

After a very-worded conversation to my parents that I was leaving the Catholic church, it was a full two years before they spoke to me again. That wasn’t all that was bothering me—they were livid that I’d dared to ask them about my adoptive parents all in the same breath. Angered, I slammed down the phone like a rejected teenager and decided to let sleeping dogs lie.

Due to my commitment to study for the detective’s exam, as well as taking on as many shifts as possible, my relationship—if you could call it that—with Elliot really suffered. In early May 2007, he didn’t come to see me after going over to his house after a difficult case; instead, I later heard through the grapevine that he had slept with Kathy that night. I found that I was completely devastated at this sudden revelation and took some vacation days; I left town and ran home—to Stella’s house, where she took me in and kept me with her for a week. I broke down and told her everything, thinking like I sounded like a pathetic high school girl who got dumped on prom night. Stella was very understanding, but urged me to go back to New York, because I still had dreams to conquer.

When I went back to New York, I found my answering machine flooded with voice messages from Elliot, desperate to hear from me. I ignored them all and threw myself into work again, and I didn’t see Elliot until the very last week of May at a benefit dinner, which Captain Harrison took me to, in order to schmooze with other detectives of New York. Olivia, who had left SVU in favor of computer crimes for a period, but had returned the November before, and it was wonderful to see her. She asked if I was on track to become detective in March, and I told her that I was.

“How have you been doing?” she asks me, getting a minute with me alone, with Elliot staring at us from across the room.

“What do you mean? I’m fine,” I reply, taking the offered champagne—hey, a twenty-two-year-old can drink a little, can’t she?

She sighed. “Because you seldom drink, Maggie, and I know for a fact that you only do it when you’re depressed, which is not something the department looks for in a detective.”

I sigh and place the undrunk glass of champagne onto the buffet table behind me and remain stoic. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Liv. I’m perfectly fine.”

She sighed a second time. “I know about you and Elliot. He told me.”

“Great,” I say, forcing a smile to my lips and talking through my teeth. “Did he also tell you that we’re through?”

Olivia blinked. “What?”

“I don’t want a man who goes back to his wife the first opportunity he gets,” I say, feeling the tears threatening to come.

Olivia takes me by the arm and out onto the balcony behind us; it is a warm evening and yet we are the only two out there. “Maggie? What’s going on? You heard about Elliot and Kathy...?”

“Hooking up like a pair of drunk teenagers—it’s sick!” I cry, shaking my head and facing the city lights so as nobody can see my tears.

“You seem to feel really strongly about this, Maggie...”

I lower my eyes, gripping the stone edge of the balcony before me. “My father cheated on my mother three times over with three different secretaries. The first two, he paid me and my siblings off when we found out. The third and final time, my brother Jay-Jay and my sister Stella took they pay off, but I refused. It was a year before the assault—I was sixteen and sick and tired of lying. I went to my mother by appointment at her office; I gave a false name, Cassandra Wells, and dressed up looking like some godforsaken socialite. I told her that I was the sister of Minerva, called Minnie, my father’s secretary, and that I’d had her followed one afternoon when she had stood me up for lunch one too many times. I explained that I had photographic evidence—which I provided thanks to some friends in the photo club at my private school—and showed my mom everything. When she asked me how I knew the family so well, because somehow she knew that Minnie didn’t have a sister, just three brothers, I took off the disguise and broke down and told her everything.” I lower my eyes to my perfectly manicured fingers, gripping the stone balcony’s edge. “I can’t take it if the same thing happens to me and I won’t. I won’t allow myself to be forgiven—I’m not as forgiving as my mother is and I never intend to be.”

“Elliot.”

Olivia’s sudden declaration of my lover joining us caused my skin to respond to him walking towards us. Olivia excused herself and shut the doors and pulled the curtains; the rest of the hall didn’t seem to notice. I had turned around by this point and was still gripping onto the balcony, unmoving.

“Maggie.” He stepped towards me, gripping onto my wrist. “You look great, you really do.”

“Thank you.” I was wearing a mermaid-cut dress which accentuated every curve, nook and cranny of my body; of everyone at the party, only Elliot would know exactly what lurked behind the expensively-cut dark green silk—later, I would realize how similar it was to the dress Keira Knightley wore during the seduction scene in the yet-to-be released film _Atonement_ , although it was strapless.

“Can we talk?”

I raise my eyes to his, and he seems taken aback by my tears. “Before or after you screw your wife again?!” I demand.

“Now hold on...”

“No, _you_ hold on, Stabler!” I say, pointing an accusing finger at him. “I can’t do this, not anymore...”

“What...?”

“I’ve been down this road before,” I tell him. “I give everything and somehow it’s not enough. I don’t give a damn if you were just having fun; that’s what it was for me in the beginning, but I loved you. I _loved_ you. I fell in love with you. Dammit, Stabler... We’re done!” I move to run past him but he reaches out and makes a successful grab for my arm.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“I know what it was like,” I say, forcing myself to keep my tone cold. “I know exactly what it was like. It was easy to fall back under her spell; and then there was me, the girl who randomly walked into your life by chance who’s younger than your oldest daughter...” I shake my head. “Let me go. You live your life, and I’ll live mine...away from each other.”

I forced myself not to listen to him as I made my way to a side door to go to the ladies’ room to check and make sure my makeup wasn’t completely destroyed beyond repair. I ignored the feeling I got that Elliot had whispered, “Goodbye, Maggie. I love you, too,” and finish touching up my makeup, nodding to myself in approval before going back out to join Captain Harrison. By the time I came out, Elliot was gone.

. . .

A day after the party, I found out that Kathy had asked Elliot to return home, as she was pregnant with their fifth child. I ignored the gossip and was pleased that no one demanded to know information about me and Elliot. I heard that Elliot had returned home and, as the months went by, I heard that Kathy had delivered a second son with Olivia’s help, and that they’d named him Elliot Stabler, Jr. I didn’t bother to listen to anything else; I had made myself sick over it in the beginning, but now I was done.

The new year came and went and I was studying for the exam with a vengeance. I knew I had it in me, and when the seventeenth of March, 2008 came, I took the detective’s test. It was an agonizing three-week wait period, and I was with Samantha one afternoon when an official brought me my results and I found myself gripping one of her hands as I opened it and looked over the documents in front of me.

“Well?” she cried, knowing that, after meeting me almost three years ago, how much this meant to me.

“I... I got it,” I whisper. “I’m a detective.”

Samantha shrieks and pulls me into a hug, and, pretty soon, many people enter the break room to see what’s happening, Captain Harrison among them. “We got ourselves a detective!” Samantha cried.

I found myself blushing at the applause, and an impromptu party is arranged, complete with pizza and cake. After we are all excused for the night, I go to the office to talk to Captain Harrison. “Thank you,” I say to him.

He shakes his head. “No problem. Got a call from Jennings.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “You’ve got a job there. You start tomorrow. Homicide Detective Holbrook.”

I gasp aloud then. “Thank you, captain!” I cry. I unpin my badge and move to retrieve my gun, but he shakes his head. “No, that gun is yours, and so is the badge, Holbrook. Jennings will take care of all that tomorrow.”

“Got it.”

He smiles. “Now, get out of here. You’re expected at Homicide at nine in the a.m. tomorrow morning.”

I grin at him. “Time really does fly...”

“And don’t you forget it, Holbrook.”

I leave the room, waving to some of the officers who still have paperwork to do and make my way downstairs. I call a cab and am thankful that my car has been sent over to the garage at my apartment complex if I’ll ever have need of it. I thank the cab driver and make my way upstairs; I figure that since it’s only just after dinner hour in Seattle, I should make a call home. The rings intensify my fears but soon the line clicks and I’m connected.

“Hello?”

“Mom, it’s me...”

“Maggie? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mom... I just found out today that I made detective.”

“Honey, that’s wonderful!”

I sigh. “Where’s Dad?”

“Case called him out to Los Angeles,” she replied. “Your Uncle Teddy has found himself in a bit of infidelity trouble...”

“Teddy’s not my uncle, Mom...”

“He’s your father’s best friend. Same difference,” she joked.

“Yeah, sure...”

“You okay, sweetie?” she asked.

“No, Mom. No, I’m not...”

“What is it?”

“Please... Just tell me something about my birth mother...”

“She was eighteen when she gave you up after graduating from a New York high school,” Mom said softly. “From what I hear, her mother had been sexually assaulted, which is how she got pregnant with her. The file said that she joined some kind of law enforcement, but that’s all I know, baby, I swear.”

“What’s the adoption agency called?”

“Apple Tree’s New Fruit Beginnings,” Mom replied. “Hey, I know, I thought the name was weird, too. The woman who owned it was called Rain and she lived in a caravan in the country.”

“Hippie?” I ask.

“Apparently so,” Mom replied.

I lowered my eyes. “Well, I should probably get some sleep. I start my job as a Homicide detective tomorrow at nine.”

“Okay, sweetheart. I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mom. Tell Daddy I love him, too.”

“Can do, darling. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mom.” I hang up the phone and make my way towards my large window, getting a good look at the impressive view I just so happen to have. “It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” I ask myself, gripping onto my elbows, as I’ve crossed my arms. “Detective Maggie Holbrook... Sounds almost professional.” I look down at my blue uniform. “Well, now I can wear those suit pants and blouses and suit jackets to work...” I chuckle to myself. I peer at myself in the lovely, floor-length Victorian mirror with gold frame that I have in the center of my living room. I have cut my hair to just above my shoulders, and, parted on the side, it is an appealing deep brown flecked with red. I chuckle to myself. “Maybe a do look a little like Olivia Benson,” I say, laughing it off as I proceed to strip off my uniform to jump in the shower before bed.


	3. I Wasn’t Expecting That!

I awake the next morning around seven feeling refreshed and stressed all at once as I make my way over to my wardrobe. I pull out a matching suit, black, and pair it with a no-nonsense white blouse and dress shoes. I head to the bathroom, brushing my teeth and hair quickly and putting on a bit of makeup before grabbing my bag with the new transfer paperwork I’d received the night before via email and subsequently printed off. Rolling my shoulders, I realized it was after eight already and I needed desperately to hop a cab and get a move on.

I headed downstairs, cereal bar between my teeth, and waved to the morning doorman, Stanley, as I waved to summon a cab forth. I made my way over to the cab, giving the address of Homicide and waiting patiently as the driver pulled into oncoming traffic. We made small talk on the way there, and soon we arrived at what was to be my new building; I paid the man and slipped out, heading to the double doors and up to the front desk.

“Margaret Holbrook,” I said, giving my name to the receptionist when my turn at bat came.

“Ah, yes,” she said, finding my name in the computer. “I.D. please.”

I handed over my I.D., as well as badge, which she looked over and typed into the computer. “Thanks,” I said when she handed them back.

“Captain Jennings is expecting you,” she tells me. “Tenth floor; you’ll come to a lobby where you’ll be told to wait.”

I nod. “Thanks, Betsy,” I say, quickly catching her name on her tag as I make my way to the elevator. I press the black ‘ten’ button and soon the chrome doors ding closed and I’m going up. They ding open a moment later and soon I step out and into the hallway, making my way towards the lobby, which is actually more of a squad room. Taking my chances, I slip past the other desks and tap directly on the door, which reads CAPTAIN JENNINGS.

“Come on in,” says the voice behind the door.

I open it up and step inside, halfway in and halfway out. “Captain Jennings?” I ask him, a portly man who had a kind air about him.

He gets to his feet, a warm smile coming to his lips. “You must be Margaret,” he says, beckoning me with a rather large finger to come inside. “Derrick Jennings, good to meet you,” he said, putting out a hand.

“Maggie, please, captain,” I reply with a smile, taking his offered hand. “It’s such an honor to meet you.”

“Cragen and Harrison have spoken very highly of you, as well as fellow detectives Benson and Stabler. They say you have a knack for dealing with children.”

I shrug. “Oh, I suppose it’s just a liking for children, sir,” I reply.

“That’s good. Unfortunately, we get a lot of orphans coming through here after their parents are shot down in drug deals gone bad. Depending on the situations in the crimes, we get some of the drug deal murders from Narcotics.”

I nod. “I see.”

“Well, I see you’ve brought in that silver number,” Captain Jennings says. “I have your gold shield right here,” he says, the words NEW YORK STATE POLICE and DETECTIVE MARGARET HOLBROOK stamped on it. “I wasn’t sure if you’d rather be called Margaret or Maggie...”

“It’s all right, captain,” I tell him with a smile. “I wear a suit to work now, so formality should be a must.” I take it from his outstretched hands and pin it onto my suit jacket. “Does it suit me?” I ask, laughing at my bad pun.

Captain Jennings laughed; he was a teddy bear of a man, with dark red hair and sparkling blue eyes. “You look great, Maggie,” he tells me. “Now, come on out so that I can introduce you to everybody.” He leads me out into the squad room and takes ahold of what must have been an old broom handle, and taps its base hard on an empty chair. “Homicide detectives!” he booms. At once, everyone stops what they’re doing to turn and look at Captain Jennings, each of them curious. “Here by my side I have our newest detective, Maggie Holbrook. She joins us from Captain Harrisons’ officers; she graduated top of her class in Criminal Law at University of Washington School of Law, and subsequently first in her class in Seattle’s police academy. Maggie, however, hungered for the Big Apple and moved to New York almost three years ago. She just made detective last night, whereupon she was promptly transferred here. I want you all to make her feel welcome, especially since her first undercover operation was a success! She successfully took down former Father Benedict Michaels who we just heard this morning has been sentenced to twenty years to life in prison!”

Everyone in the squad room applauded mightily, except for a woman sitting by the window, sipping coffee, who looked more like a supermodel than a detective. I sensed that there was resentment within her, but I chose not to dwell on it. Instead I thanked everyone for their support, yet remained humble all the same.

“Detectives Newton and Cagney, how’s your investigation going on the serial killer Monte Davies?” Captain Jennings asks.

“Well,” the one I see is called Gloria Newton answers. “We’ve discovered his hideout and we’ll probably get to get to him within the next seventy-two hours, captain.”

“Assuming he doesn’t make a move,” Captain Jennings replies, turning back to me with a grim smile. “As for you, Maggie, you’ll be partnered up with one of our finest, Diana Valentina, who has been with us for six years,” he says, nodding in the direction of the supermodel by the window. “Diana, come over here and meet Maggie, please.”

Diana reluctantly comes over; she has green eyes and black hair, and I think that there is some Hispanic within her somewhere. She gives me the once-over and sighs a little. “Good to meet you,” she says, giving me an I-don’t-care handshake and pasting on a smile until Captain Jennings walks back to his office. “Look, I know your type,” she says in a hostile manner towards me. “Park Avenue, Daddy’s little girl, total bitch. I don’t want to take any of your crap,” she says, shaking her head at me. “The only reason they’re pairing me with you is because...”

“I know, I know,” I say, crossing my arms. “It’s either because they don’t trust me yet or because they think you’ll spoon-feed me, right? I get it,” I say, breezing past her and pouring myself some coffee—hey, I may have hated the drink, but this Diana chick was giving me a headache. “Trust me, my last partner didn’t like me at first either.”

“It’s not because of that,” Diana snaps. “It’s because my former partner, Johnny Bennett, was gunned down by a drug lord when he was undercover. He was planning on transferring to Narcotics anyway, but it didn’t have to go down like that, you know?”

I turn and regard her then, and find my brows going together as I contemplate her words and how tenderly she spoke of Johnny. “You were in love with him,” I say quietly to her.

“That’s a lie,” Diana snaps.

I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that. I don’t mean to be invasive or patronizing in any way, Diana, but I got my minor in psychology. It’s plain to see that you had romantic feelings for Johnny.”

“Nobody knew we were together,” she whispers, “or, if they did, they never let on that we were.”

I give her a small smile. “It’s okay. I dated a detective once. Not a good story, and no happy ending for me either. Trust me, my life hasn’t been a total walk in the park, Diana.” I sigh and motion for her to stand closer. “I was born in New York but I moved to Seattle when I was a baby after I was adopted. My biological mother abandoned me at birth because she didn’t want a baby—or a constant reminder of the guy she slept with. For my graduation present from high school, I begged my parents to take me back here because I wanted to be an actress. I’d been accepted into Julliard so they figured a trip to New York would do me some sort of good. I get here and it’s amazing, but, one day, I’m shopping with my mom and I get attacked in the bathroom. I was a virgin; I’d had three boyfriends, but I’d slept with one of them, but it didn’t... He didn’t, you know,” I say softly. “So I was raped in the bathroom of FAO Schwartz by this guy... I still don’t know all the details; I was only seventeen at the time. That’s when I met Detectives Benson and Stabler and rejected Julliard to be a cop.”

“Really?” Diana asks.

I nod. “Really,” I reply. “So, yeah, I come from money, but my life isn’t a total cakewalk, Diana. You can reek of money but still be unhappy. My ex decided to go back to his wife and kids instead of being with me. I guess I wasn’t enough for him, in the end...”

“New York guy?” Diana asks.

“No,” I lie, shaking my head. “He was doing some training with us back when I lived in Seattle. I think he said he was from Chicago.”

“Ah,” Diana says. “Sorry to hear that.”

I shrug, sipping my coffee tentatively. “Hey, it is what it is. What are you going to do about it?”

“Oh...” Diana says softly, looking behind me.

“What?” I ask.

“He’s here,” she replies quietly.

“Who’s here?”

“Hunter,” she replies. “Derrick’s nephew—adopted him after his dad was killed in the Persian Gulf War,” she whispers to me as Hunter goes up to speak with Newton and Cagney, who I saw bears the first name of Wilbur.

“What about his mom?” I ask softly.

“Died in childbirth,” she replies easily. “Hunter was only eight when his dad was gunned down unmerciful and then Derrick stepped in. They come from old money, the Jennings,” she tells me. “Came over on the Mayflower, apparently. I don’t know much about it.”

“Oh, I see,” I reply, turning away from the gorgeous specimen as Diana leads me over to her desk, where mine is placed just opposite. I smile a little as the name plate says DET. HOLBROOK, making me feel important as I take a seat. “Do we have any cases?” I ask her.

“Not now,” Diana replies, sitting across from me. “But that can all change in the blink of an eye.”

I nod. “Good to know.”

“Diana, for shame,” Hunter says rather cockily as he makes his way towards us. “I can’t believe that you didn’t introduce me to your partner.”

Diana shrugs. “Why should I?”

“Very funny,” Hunter says, shaking his head. “Come on, I’m your cousin. The least you could do is play nice.”

I raise my eyebrows at Diana, who sighs.

“Derrick is my biological father,” Diana clarifies. “But I was raised by my mother because the Jennings family didn’t approve of me. And technically speaking, I’m your sister, Hunter, since you were adopted by Derrick. Remember that,” she says, pointing a perfectly manicured, scarlet-colored finger at him before gathering the files on her desk and walking off, presumably, to the file room.

“Tension in paradise, I see,” I remark softly, looking over the paperwork that has been put on my desk, about a serial rapist named Tony Moreno. “Looks like some paperwork from Special Victims’ got mixed up in here...”

“Let’s see,” Hunter says, looking down. “Ah. Well, murder trumps rape, and we suspect Tony Moreno of murder. We’ve got about another week to prove it, but if we don’t get anywhere, that case is thrown out the window and SVU gets him on all those rapes.”

“I see.” I raise my eyes to peer at Hunter; he has a strong jaw line, fair skin, brown hair, intelligent brown eyes, and those lips... I quickly bite my lower lip and look away from him. _Dammit, not the boss’s son and certainly not on the first day of work, Holbrook_ , I say angrily to myself.

“So sorry.” Hunter says, putting out a hand. “Sergeant Hunter Grayson. Nice to meet the new recruit... Margaret,” he says, reading my badge.

“Maggie,” I reply, taking his hand and turning to look at him full in the face for the first time, causing his eyes to widen ever so slightly. “Good to meet you.” I shake his hand briefly before dropping it; his hand remains suspended in mid-air for a moment before another gentleman, who appears to be a family man in his mid-forties, walks up to us.

“Ah, the new recruit, I see,” says the man, putting out his hand. “Detective Jackson Travers, been here six years. How the heck are ya?!” he says enthusiastically with a barrel of laughter before pulling me up out of my seat and giving me a big hug. “I like to keep things friendly,” he confesses, laughing a bit before letting me go. “I have to confess that my wife of over twenty years doesn’t always see it that way, but oh well,” he says, still laughing.

“You’ll see to it that you keep it professional with _Margaret_ ,” Hunter says, giving Jackson a stern look before going over to his desk, a large one, separated from all the others, right by Captain Jennings’s office.

“Don’t mind Hunter, he gets tightly wound on Monday mornings,” Jackson tells me with a kind smile.

I return the smile. “New York born and raised, huh?”

“Queens, guilty,” he says, throwing up his hand with a chuckle. “The wife and I own the apartment house that I grew up in now. Fixed it up real nice; now it’s a full-fledged home. The kids love it...”

“Kids?” I ask, laughing. “How many?”

“Six, bless my wife,” he replies, covering a hand over his heart. “The twins, Audrey Anne and Lillian Marie are now at Hudson University, full scholarships—our Audrey for law and our Lillian for medicine. Then there’s Jackson Jr.; he’s going to graduate high school this year. Then came Harry, and he’s in his second year of high school. Then was Rosie Mae, and she’s due to start high school next year—in September. And then there’s Joe, we call him Joey, and he’s going to start middle school in September. We’re all proud of all of them, although they can get a bit loud when they want something. You got kids?”

I shake my head. “No. I just ended things with someone about a year ago.” I shrug at him; there is something very paternal about Jackson, and I find that I feel very safe with him. “Besides, I’ve got time—I’m only twenty-two.”

“The wife and I were married at eighteen,” Jackson says; he is gleeful, and not boasting about this in any way, shape or form. “As soon as high school graduation happened—BOOM! —we were saying our vows. I joined the police academy right away, and she took night school because our twins were born right away. Genetic things, twins; my mother’s side had ‘em, her father’s side had ‘em.”

I nod at that. “Yeah, twins run in my family, too,” I reply. “My mother is actually a triplet, and my father has two brothers who are twins are well...”

Hunter lets out a groan and gets to his feet; his swivel desk chair goes flying across the room and collides with a filing cabinet as he comes towards us. “Now I know that it appears as if _Margaret_ is this shiny new toy that we all just have to have, but we’ve got work to do. Margaret, do a brief meet-and-greet with Newton and Cagney and then find Valentina in the file room. Go on,” he says when I don’t move to do his bidding. “Chop-chop.”

“Chop-chop?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “Oh, no, no, no. I’m sorry, but you have no right to speak to me that way. I’m not just going to chop vegetables—or, in this case, be rude to fellow members of the squad—on your say-so. It may be my first day on the job, and I might be only a detective, but you’re a sergeant. I answer to the captain, Grayson, _not_ to you.”

Hunter looks shocked that I have dared to speak out of turn. He crosses the room so as he is standing before the office of Captain Jennings and moves the blinds ever so slightly so as we can see him. There he is, sitting with his back to us in his green tweed suit which made my back itch when he put his arm around me (hey, the best of us are allergic to wool, calm down) his phone pressed up to his ear. I take it to mean it is a sensitive call, and quickly look away, not wanting to get caught for spying on the boss.

“Since you’re new, no disciplinary action will be taken against you,” Hunter says to me, obviously trying to keep his temper. “But I want to be the first one to tell you that if the captain is otherwise engaged, orders automatically defer to me. I fully intend to take the lieutenants exam next year, and when I pass, I fully intend to take you in front of the disciplinary board if this unprofessional, childish attitude of yours is used again. Is that understood?”

I lower my eyes. “Loud and clear, sarge,” I reply.

“Now hang on a minute, Hunter,” Jackson says, stepping slightly in front of me, “I know full well that you conveniently used your status as the adopted son and biological nephew of Jennings to step in and get promoted...”

“That’s enough, Travers,” Hunter replies sharply.

“He’s right, Hunter,” Gloria says, shooting me a kind smile, especially in her bright green eyes; she wears her abundant curly red hair is caught back in an abundant ponytail, which hangs elegantly to the middle of her back. “You joined the department _after_ all of us, and you know it. By all rights, the sergeant position should’ve gone to Jackson...”

“But you swooped it right out from under him,” Wilbur says, shaking his head at Hunter; Wilbur was lean and fit, standing just over six feet tall with a serious and intelligent expression on his face. Wilbur quite reminded me of the English actor Matthew MacFadyen, who was mainly known for playing Mr. Darcy opposite Keira Knightley in _Pride and Prejudice_. “You’ve got to give it a rest. We know you’re a sergeant, Hunter, it doesn’t make you a superstar.”

“But it has made you a bully,” Jackson says softly. “Picking on the poor kid like that on her first day. Yes, she should know the rules and regulations about how we run things here, but, like I said, it’s her first day. Cut her some slack.”

Hunter rolled his eyes, gathered some files, and called to a detective who just walked in, “Wilkes! You’re with me today!” and hauled the poor, naïve-looking man out of the squad room.

“Thanks, guys,” I say, turning to them all with grateful smiles as Diana comes back into the squad room with more files.

“We look after our own,” Gloria tells me with a smile.

. . .

By December, I am one of the gang; if it hasn’t been a long day but a hard one, we frequent a cop bar close by. It is slightly better than what you’re thinking; seedy joints in Alphabet City aren’t for us; we prefer to class it up ever so slightly. I am pleased when I hear about Jackson’s monthly dinner parties that happen when the rest of his four kids—who still live at home—are either with their grandparents or at friends’ houses for the night. Despite the tension, Jackson and Hunter are best friends and, when we’re not on the job or in the squad room, Hunter was almost cordial to all of us. I didn’t want to risk being alone with him just yet, but I could see that he was in the process of warming to me.

At the end of December, I was told about the annual NYPD Christmas Ball, where anyone above detective in rank was permitted to attend. It was in some frou-frou underground nightclub, converted to a different theme every year. That year, it was a renaissance theme, with costumes being necessary in order to fit in. Part of the ball would be an authentic—well, as authentic as can be—renaissance dinner, as well as dancing, which had to be done in masks, as everyone believed that in the renaissance period, masked balls were the norm. I went to the costume store and, when I gave the password, was directed to Belle’s Sewing Basket across town, where a woman would take my measurements and look me over, judging my color scheme and style, and figure out something for me. Gleeful, I told the woman what my likes and dislikes were, and she said that working for me would be no trouble at all.

When the day of the ball came, I received my delivery by Stanley the doorman and thanked him, tipping him generously. Since it was Christmas Eve, I had the day off unless a big emergency came up. I grabbed ahold of the garment bag and held it to me; in my anticipation, the notion of unzipping it was foreign to me. Finally, I laid it out on the couch and unzipped it slowly, wanting to savor the moment, as well as the element of surprise.

The skirt was massive—so massive that I would need to go downstairs very carefully and walk through doors with just as much care. The square-cut neckline would be able to perfectly accentuate my swan-like neck and show off other aspects of me perfectly. I ran my hand over the shimmering green material; pure, unfiltered, unblemished silk. It was strapless, so about a quarter of my back would be showing, as well as my shoulders, and the same went for my front. Peering at the mask, I saw that it was green and silver, and sparkled with sequins and glitter, much to my liking. A green bit of silk—the same color of my dress—was attached to the mask by a pin, made entirely of silver and encrusted with diamonds; a lone green feather stuck out above the brooch and twist of green ribbon.

It would be the perfect opportunity to visit the salon, I decided, quickly putting the dress back into the garment bag and hurrying it to my bedroom, and putting it into my wardrobe. I called Tyson, and old friend of mine who had recently opened a salon nearby, and asked him if he could possibly squeeze me into his salon that afternoon, which was located on the other side of Central Park, for a manicure, pedicure, and hair appointment.

“Oh, honey, of course!” Tyson gushed. “We’ll even have time to do a wax if you get in here quickly!”

I managed to get there in five minutes and got a manicure, pedicure, and my hair extended so as it flowed down my back. I took Tyson up on the waxing offer and soon was perfectly groomed for the masquerade ball that evening. On the way back to my apartment, I passed by a high-end shoe shop and, on a whim, ventured inside and found a pair of green strappy heels which would enable some people—if they dared to look closely enough—to see my painted toes.

I returned to my apartment, nodding at Stanley—who did a double-take when he saw my altered appearance—and slipped inside. I had about three hours before the party, so I decided to shut my eyes for forty-five minutes. I lay in the position Tyson had told me would be appropriate for my recently-applied hair extensions and set my alarm for three-forty-five exactly. When I awoke, I went over some files on an unsolved homicide until just after five, when I decided that I wasn’t really getting anywhere and knew it was time. I got to my feet and went to the bathroom where I quickly did my makeup—foundation, blush, lipstick, lip-liner, eyeshadow, eye-liner, mascara—and then went to my bedroom.

I managed to slip the dress over my head and did the side zipper accordingly before slipping on my new heels and putting the matching tiara in my hair—which was more of a coronet, really—and looked at myself with the mask. A knock at my door surprised me, and I was shocked to see Stanley standing there, who was delivering me a late package from my mother. Mom, who had heard about the ball, had sent me a period necklace all done up in silver and emeralds, with a card that read, ‘ _A mother always knows..._ ’ written on it.

The limo arrived to collect me shortly thereafter, and, as I stepped outside, I was pleased to see who I was to be riding with. Co-mingling of the squads was encouraged during the holiday season, and it seemed that the angels of Christmas had smiled upon me, for I was sharing a limo with Diana, Gloria, and Olivia, who were all pleased to see me, and seemed shocked at how gorgeous my house was. I was shocked at how wonderful the seamstress had been with all of our gowns, each luxurious in its own way.

Olivia wore a red and gold dress which highlighted her darker complexion. Her mask matched the gown, as mine did, and she wore champagne topaz at her throat and in her ears.

Gloria’s dress was a pale green to my darker green, which went well with her red hair, and she joked that she looked like Christmas incarnate. We all joked that she must be the Princess of Christmas.

Diana wore a royal blue gown with the puffiest skirt I’d ever seen. It was a bit too Quinceanera-y for my taste, but, that was part of her culture. I wouldn’t want to hurt her feelings, so I merely said that it went well with her olive skin.

We arrived at the club, quickly putting our masks into place as we got into the elevator and rode down. We made small talk on the ride down, and, when the floor dinged, we heard the music pumping in the more-than-likely large speakers they’d hired for the event. Diana and Gloria stepped out and walked down the hallway and turned the corner, but Olivia held me back for a moment.

“What’s up?” I asked.

Olivia sighed. “I don’t want you to freak out or anything...”

I put on a tight smile. “Elliot bring Kathy?” I ask.

She nods. “Yeah.”

“All right, then. I won’t make a scene. Besides, it’ll be nice to see what exactly he left me for.”

“Please. Don’t do anything reckless,” Olivia urges.

I roll my eyes, pulling away from her and turning the corner; I can barely hear her heels behind me, and immediately I am nearly blinded by the disco lights in this place. I can see that everyone is in their masks, and I feel a sense of relief in the anonymity of it all. Besides, only Elliot and Diana would be able to identify me by my upper back and shoulders; Diana and I went to the same gym and had seem each other in various stages of undress during the last few weeks. Not that it mattered—neither of them would dare to out my identity.

I recognized Fin, Don, and John by their voices and went to join them. They were pleased to see me and congratulated me on joining the Homicide unit. John pulled me aside and reminded me of his time in Homicide; he said that if I ever wanted any tips or leads on a case, to call him first. I assured him that I would, pending Captain Jennings’s approval on the matter.

“I hear you had it out with Grayson already,” Don tells me after Fin and John have been abducted by lovely ladies to dance with.

I shrug. “He’s...”

“I sense hesitation from you, Maggie,” Don says, giving me a knowing smile. “I know you better than that. Come on. Be honest.”

“He’s vile,” I confess. “He’s just...awful, especially to me. Jackson is so nice and I can’t understand why he would put up with him...”

“Olivia puts up with Elliot,” Don replies.

I find myself growing stiff. “Well, Olivia is an intelligent, level-headed woman, as both you and I know...”

Don follows my line of vision, and finds that mine and Elliot’s eyes have locked on one another; the gaze is only broken after who I assume is Kathy, Elliot’s wife, calls his attention back to her. Don looks from Elliot back to me again, and sighs a little to himself. “So, it’s true?”

“What?”

“Elliot had a partner when Liv was in computer crimes, Dani Beck, and it was rumored that they dated briefly...”

I nod. “I see.”

“But after Dani left and Liv came back, something changed in Elliot. He was actually happy—for the first time in a long time, he was genuinely happy. The rumor was going around that he was dating an officer, but he never confirmed or denied that, until now...”

I feel my blood running cold. “Don...”

“I’m saying this because I care about you, Maggie,” Don says, firmly yet not unkindly. “Let it go. You did nothing wrong. As the superior officer during that point, Elliot should’ve acted more appropriately...”

“It was mutual,” I say softly. “I wanted it as much as he did. Yet, after I heard that he got with Kathy, and conceived Elliot Jr., I just...”

“Fell apart.” Don nodded. “My wife passed away some time ago—tore me up. I turned to alcohol to cope and found myself stuck in the bottle for quite some time, unfortunately. I’d climbed out successfully before, but with the department’s help on the down low. But I knew if I asked for help this time, it could cost me my job and everything else I held dear—even my kids. I knew that I had to find the inner strength to get out of it, and I did, on my own. So, all I’m saying is, don’t waste your time wanting something you can’t have... Maggie?”

“Yeah?” I turn to look at him, trying to fight my tears.

“Elliot was an idiot to desert you,” he replies. Then, softly, he whispers, “Did he know?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“So... Elliot was the father?”

I sighed, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, he was. But I knew that I was in no place to take care of a baby...” I shrug. “I know I was adopted, but I didn’t want to do that sort of thing, I... I just wanted it to be over. And, fortunately, we have the kind of establishments to take care of such things...” I turn back to face him. “Thanks, for keeping that on the down low. Only you and Liv and my partner, Diana, know about it. Of course, Diana doesn’t know who...”

“I get it,” Don replies, giving me a smile. He takes a swig of the punch that has been provided, and I mentally cross my fingers that there’s no alcohol in it like at some frat party.

“Can you direct me to the bathroom?”

“Down further in the elevator hall,” Don replies. “I need to have a word with your captain, at the moment...”

“Go on. Schmooze,” I chuckle, gently slapping his shoulder as he walks away. I quickly go towards the hallway and find the bathroom. Upon opening the door, I gasp and let out a choked scream of shock. There, behind the door, are Wilkes and Wilbur, making out. “Um...” I say, turning half away. “Think I’ve got the wrong bathroom here...sorry...”

Wilbur follows me out, catching me by the arm. “The department doesn’t know yet,” he says softly. “Please...don’t...”

I nod. “Don’t what? I didn’t see anything. I swear.”

He smiles, grateful. “Thanks,” he replies, darting back to his lover.

Suddenly thirsty, I dart back out to the main room and down two shots of whatever is lying around. Appropriately buzzed, I don’t see that Kathy Stabler has come upon the table for the cheese tray. I quickly move to get out of her way, but she catches my arm and smiles at me.

“You must be Maggie,” she says with a smile. “Liv speaks so highly of you. It’s such a shame that you didn’t pick to work at SVU.”

“Live victims, you know,” I say, shaking my head. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Stabler, really an honor.”

“Oh, please, call me Kathy. I may have five kids, but I’m not that old,” she says, giggling a little and tossing her blonde hair.

I manage to excuse myself quickly and stand in a dark corner by myself; after downing three more shots, I lost count. I know I need to clear my head. I can’t go on like this, forever, can I? _Maybe I should transfer back home_ , I think briefly to myself. _What are you talking about, Holbrook? This is home! You were born here, for god’s sake_ , my inner voice tells me. I am shocked when Hunter comes towards me, and I see Elliot contemplating walking over. I find that when I am buzzed, I make impulsive decisions; this was one of those time.

“Hunter, let’s dance!” I cry out, and pull him, not kicking and screaming, towards the dance floor.

A new sound has started up, and I can hear the beat in my ears—I think that it’s something by ABBA. I throw myself into the moves, and the other couples around us create a wall around us. I find that Hunter’s touch on me is electric, and I feel Elliot’s eyes boring into my back in a fit of jealousy. The lights are dim, so I can barely see two feet in front of me, but it isn’t long before Hunter’s lips and mine find one another and we can’t seem to stop.

 _Don’t do anything reckless_...

The words are foreign to me as I manage to pull Hunter from the room, all the rest of the party folk seemingly preoccupied with other affairs. We jump into the first limo we see and I, giggling like a teenage girl on prom night, give my address to the driver. The man shrugs and does my bidding; I hand him three or four twenties when we arrive and he doesn’t bat an eye and I pull Hunter into the main door and up into the elevator and into the penthouse. Still giggling, I unlock the door and love that his laughter’s pitch perfectly mingles with mine. I shut and lock the door behind us, and squeal with delight when Hunter lifts me effortlessly and takes me directly to the bedroom. He takes off my dress, the silk hissing against the floor as he throws it off me and proceeds to take off his own costume—I think the words doublet and hose would be appropriate adjectives to use here.

I laugh again, and motion to the drawer, where he takes out a condom and puts it on; I avert my eyes, out of respect, but manage to get a good peek. _Hello_ , I think to myself, not adverse to it at all. I wrap my legs around him, cheering him on, and soon it happens. Laughing, we are kissing over and over again; I am the kind of happy drunk, not pukey and gross, but happy. I want him deeper, harder, more. I want more, more, more; with Elliot, it was mainly about the sex, I saw that now, but with Hunter, I sensed something on a deeper level, through this drunken haze, as his body perfectly molded to mine, and we became one complete person. I could not believe it.

“More,” I whispered.

“What?” he asked.

“More...” I giggle a little as his lips find mine again. “I want more...”

“And I, Miss Holbrook, want it all...”

“All?”

He nods. “Every inch,” he whispers, his lips lowering from mine to my chest. “I think that would be appropriate...”

“Oh, sergeant,” I whisper, moaning.

“Call me that again.”

“Sergeant,” I whisper, shuddering at the effect he has on me. “My sergeant, sergeant, sergeant...”

. . .

I open my eyes, staring at the beamed ceiling in my penthouse above my bed in my bedroom, and feel a throbbing sensation in my head. What a bizarre dream! Well, it was official; I had had a sex dream about a co-worker; maybe, just for the heck of it, I’d bring it up with Hunter at work and allow him to go to the disciplinary board against me. It was what he wanted, isn’t it? To see me fired and permanently disbarred from entering the force again?

Reality set in after I checked the time—9:00 a.m. on Christmas Day. _More sleep, thank you_ , I thought to myself, rolling over. I gasped aloud then, for it was in that moment that I saw it. “Shit...” I whispered, shaking my head and sitting up, quickly wrapping my comforter around me. “Um... Hunter?”

He groaned a little. “What?”

I bit my lip. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’ve just slept with your mortal enemy...”

“Diana, we didn’t!” he cried, his eyes shooting open and turning to look at me. His eyes widened then and he shook his head. “Margaret...”

“Dammit, the least you could do is call me ‘Maggie’,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I don’t get it. You hate me already—why the use of the first name?!”

“Margaret is a princess’s name,” he replies, almost as if that is a perfectly logical explanation for ignoring my preferred name for over nine months.

I sigh, rubbing my temples. “I know I challenged your authority on day one, but I apologized for that...”

“You did, I know...”

“Good.” I shake my head. “Listen, it’s Christmas, and I’m sure that there are a million things you’d rather be doing...”

“Not really...”

“What about Jennings? He’s your father...”

“Adoptive father. I never called him ‘Dad’.”

I sigh. “I was adopted, too,” I confess to him then, feeling weird about opening up to someone like him. “My parents adopted me when I was two months old and I got them, and an older brother and sister. They told me when I was five that I was adopted, and when I entered high school that I’d been born to a teenage mother. I don’t really know much else other than she supposedly works for the police force, and my birthday...”

“Why did you never look into it?” he asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I’m scared that I’ll be rejected twice.” I smirk. “I’ve heard it said that cops are a tough breed, but I don’t know. Maybe we are...” I shrug a second time. “Maybe we’re not.”

“I don’t hate you.”

I turn and look at Hunter. “Well, that’s comforting, considering that we just slept together...”

“I like to call that lovemaking,” he replies.

“Har-de-har-har,” I reply, shaking my head at him.

“Walk in on Wilkes and Wilbur last night?” he asks casually.

I raise my eyebrows. “Are you pumping me for information, sir?”

He shakes his head. “No. Just wanting to know if you’re in on their little secret. I mean, they live together, and they want to get married...”

“And...you have a problem with that?”

“No.” He shakes his head again. “Just wondering if you did.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Good.” He sighs. “But, Maggie,” he says, the name obviously feeling strange on his tongue, “I don’t hate you. I actually...” His cell phone beeps then, and he sighs, putting up his index finger. “Surprised that this didn’t die last night,” he mutters to himself and opens it. “Hello? Hi, Victoria,” he says, who I know to be Jackson’s lovely wife. “What?” he asks, his face shattering. “Vicky, slow down. Tell me what happened.”

I just make out the words, “Drunk”, “Shot”, “Gone”, “Blood”, and “Everywhere” on the other end of his phone conversation, and immediately get worried.

“I’ll be right there...”

“Bring Maggie,” Victoria replies, and I raise my eyebrows, unaware that she liked me that much.

“Sure, we’ll be there soon,” Hunter replies, hanging up.

“What is it?” I ask.

Hunter is trying hard to keep in control, and he grits his teeth for a moment before answering me. “Jackson’s gone,” he replied. “He left the party after we did on a call with Diana as backup and the perps shot them.”

“Hunter...?” I ask, the note of desperation clear in my tone.

He raises his eyes to mine. “He’s gone, Maggie,” he says softly. “Jackson is gone and Diana’s critical,” he replies.

I immediately get out of bed, not caring that I’m stark naked, and head directly over to my wardrobe, trying my best to throw some clothes on. “I’ve got to go to see her, Hunter!” I cry out, the flood of tears not stopping despite the fact that he’s not even three feet away from me. “I’ve got to make sure she’s okay! I can’t believe I _left_ her there last night...!” I double over as the pain of losing one of our own and the possibility of losing Diana hits me, and proceed to sob.

Hunter gets to his feet and crosses over to me; he wraps his arms around me, and I find that I am comforted by his embrace. “She’s in a coma, Maggie...”

“I don’t care!” I thrash against him. “Hunter, I am going to see her—!”

He grips me tighter, so as I don’t do either of us any harm. “I know you do, Maggie, I know you do. But right now we have to go and make sure that Victoria and the kids are okay. I’ll talk to the wife, and you talk to the kids. It’ll be a team effort...”

“Team?” I ask, looking up at him.

He sighs. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but Diana’s petitioned to move to Narcotics and the request was granted,” he says softly. “We were going to bring in some new blood, but now...” He sighs a second time. “We don’t have to. I am nearly positive the Jennings will pair us up...”

I lower my eyes. “I don’t want to think about that...”

“Okay.” Hunter nods. “I promise you, that everything will work out...”

“Jackson’s gone,” I reply brokenly, looking up at him. “Why aren’t you showing me your emotions, Hunter? Don’t you dare clam up on me now!” I cry, taking ahold of him by his shoulders. “So help me, if you don’t be straight with me, I don’t know...”

He grabs ahold of my shoulders then and kisses me, hard. There is yearning behind the kiss, and I find myself wanting him. No longer drunk, I know that there are no ulterior motives at play here; I was attracted to him, that much was clear, I reasoned with myself as he pushed me down onto my bed. He got another condom and fixed himself up before quickly entering me then. I let out a gasp; I wanted this, I wanted this so much.

I wanted it to clear out the pain of losing Jackson and Diana, but most of all, I soon realized, I wanted to get over the pain of losing Elliot completely.


	4. Sensational

The funeral for Jackson was a blur; while we detectives mainly wore suits and such to work, day in and day out, now we were made to wear the official uniform. Our gold badges were tacked to our left chests, for all to see, our caps adorned with the same emblem as well. I rolled my shoulders before I left the penthouse that cold, rainy morning in early January as I stared in the mirror at myself; it was a week after New Year’s, and two weeks after Christmas, but none of us had been very happy, or very merry, due to the unexpected loss of Jackson.

“You okay?”

I raised my eyes to Hunter, garbed in his sergeant’s uniform; in light of the most devastating circumstances, he’d put off going after lieutenant for another six months or so, out of respect for Jackson.

“Fine,” I reply, a mere whisper.

It was no longer a shock to see Hunter in the penthouse; he stayed over several nights a week since the shooting; it seemed the tragedy of losing both our partners on the force had brought us together, and now he and I were partners in the squad without anyone batting an eye. If we put out signals that we were sleeping together, either nobody truly knew or they just didn’t care. I was hoping for a mixture of the two; I knew that my original intention for sleeping with Hunter was to get Elliot jealous; then, it quickly became for the purpose of getting over him; but now, it was different... It was different, wasn’t it?

“No, you’re not.” Hunter steps forward and pulls me into his strong arms, causing my heart to skip a beat; I love this feeling his touch has on me, and I know he does, too, giving the delicious noise of the small chuckle in the back of his throat. “I know you a little bit better than that, Maggie. Come on...”

I turn my face into his chest; his uniform smells like the laundry detergent I use, which means something, I just know it. “I love working with you, Hunter, you know that, but...”

He pulls me back; it is gentle, for he knows if he gets rough we’ll end up tearing up these sacred uniforms and getting back in my bed, where we spent four or five hours last night not sleeping, and another two straight hours just talking. That left about an hour and thirty minutes for sleep; I may look like a wreck, but he looks as gorgeous and beautiful as ever. “You’re feeling like it all just suddenly fell into our laps?” he asks.

I sigh. “Basically,” I reply.

He nods. “Would you prefer a female partner?”

I shrug. “I don’t know... It’s just...”

“What?”

“Well, I’ve never had a partner on the force that I’m sleeping with,” I say. “I mean, you know my ex was on the force, but...”

“About that... You say you broke up with him almost two years ago?”

I nod. “Yeah. May of this year will make it two years.”

“Do you trust me?”

I chuckle ever so slightly, raising my eyes to meet his. “In or out of the bedroom, sergeant?” I ask him coyly.

“Maggie, I’m being serious... How many people knew about you with this guy? I want an honest answer.”

“What am I, on trial here?” I demand, pulling away from him and standing in front of my mirror again, smoothing the uniform.

“No. Sorry.” Hunter sighs, rolling his own shoulders. “I know, I know, I’m acting paranoid but will you at least tell me who knew?”

“Olivia and Cragen know the full story,” I reply. “Munch and Fin just go by the rumors, but I think they knew about it. I’m sure if Huang shrunk my head enough he’d be able to figure it out. And Novak?” I shrug. “Who knows...”

Hunter’s eyes glaze over ever so slightly. “You say you ended things with this guy in May 2007?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Was he at the ball?”

I lower my eyes. “Yes.”

“It’s not Cragen, is it?”

I nearly sputter with laughter. “Hunter!” I cry, raising my eyes to his. “Cragen is practically like a father to me! No, it’s not Cragen!” I say, straightening out my nuisance of a collar.

Hunter meets my gaze in the mirror. “Odd. The one SVU detective I didn’t hear you mention is Stabler.”

I watch in the mirror as my face pales. _Dammit, keep it together Holbrook_ , I tell myself. “No?” I say, cursing myself for the squeak to my voice. “Funny. Yeah, he knows,” I say, pulling on my jacket.

“Maggie...” He takes ahold of my jacket and gently puts it on me; he zips it up, not careful to not brush up ever so slightly against my breasts in the process, which causes my face to heat as they respond to his touch immediately. “I just feel like there’s something you’re not telling me...”

“You’d be right,” I say, slipping past him into the hallway and out the front door, down the elevator, and into the waiting car to take us to the funeral.

. . .

 _Going Home_ on the bagpipes is always associated with police funerals, and today is no exception. As we all stand in the rain, decked out from head to toe in black, our umbrellas over each and every head, I think even the sky is sobbing for the loss of one of our own. Hunter is not permitted to stand with me, due to the fact that he is a sergeant and I’m a detective; I take comfort in Gloria’s presence, however, and she has made it clear to me that she fully supports my wishes for a female partner, due to the fact that she is the only one in the unit who knows about my rather sordid relationship with Hunter.

The most popular people in the funeral are of course Victoria and all of her and Jackson’s children; tied for second respectively are Captain Jennings, as the leader of the Homicide Unit, and Hunter, as Jackson’s partner and best friend. Gloria and I stand with the rest of the unit after the procession has walked by, and I find myself taking ahold of Victoria’s shaking hands. The rain has stopped for the moment and I lower my umbrella.

“Maggie, my dear,” Victoria says, putting her arms around me for a few moments before pulling back to look at me. “Although it was only mere months, Jackson loved you dearly.” She leans in closer then. “He saw something between you and Hunter from the day you joined the unit. There is something different about Hunter now, my sweet; don’t let him out of your sight.”

I shake hands with many people from the department that afternoon, but my heart feels lighter when Don comes up and puts his arms around me. “Captain Cragen, it has been too long,” I say, shaking his hand when his hug is finished.

“You’re welcome to come by the unit anytime, even if it’s just to say hello or to have someone to talk to,” he says with a kind smile. “You’re on my speed dial if we ever need another undercover operation.”

I nod. “Thank you, captain,” I reply.

Olivia comes next and she gives me a kind smile, pulling me into a hug. “Jackson was a good man... But you seem to have taken fondly to his partner,” she says softly to me, pulling back. “How’s things with the sergeant?”

I feel myself blushing and give one of those short laughs that can commonly be mistaken for a cough. “He’s... Just amazing, Liv,” I say softly.

Olivia nods. “Glad to hear it.” She pauses for a moment. “You’ve got my number, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“Good. I want to get coffee soon,” she replies, slipping next to me to speak to Gloria, who seems to know her.

“Fin,” I say, accepting his hug.

“Jackson was a good man,” Fin says in his laid-back way. “Although I know the department will be quieter without him, and Detective Valentina, I know that they’re in good hands since they have you.”

“John,” I say, laughing a little as he puts an arm around my shoulders.

“How are you holding up, kid?” he asks.

I nod. “Seen better days,” I reply.

“Jackson was a good cop, and we take care of our own...” He leans in closer. “If you still want some Homicide Unit tips, let me know.”

“Will do,” I reply, and suddenly my heart is in my throat as Elliot comes up behind John; I do my best to remain neutral. “Detective Stabler,” I say levelly.

“Detective Holbrook.” He leans in and kisses my cheek, and I feel a combination of wanting to punch him and throwing him down into the mud or perhaps something friendlier. “How are you?”

“Fine.” My tone is clipped.

“You look good.”

“Thanks.”

“Listen, I think that the two of us should talk at some point, and...”

“Detective Stabler,” says Hunter, breaking ranks and coming to stand next to me, putting a protective arm around my shoulders.

“Sergeant Grayson,” Elliot replies, looking peeved that he’s been interrupted. “I do apologize for the loss of Detective Travers. He was a good man.”

“A better man than other detectives, it seems,” Hunter replies scathingly.

“Excuse me?” Elliot asks.

“Oh, I think you heard me,” Hunter replies.

“No, stop,” I say as Elliot goes in to punch Hunter. “Elliot!” I cry out.

Hunter then ducks the punch and lands Elliot in the gut.

“This is a funeral for one of our own!” I cry, ducking into the fray. I try to hold the both of them at bay, when, circling around them both to get a good angle to push them away from one another, I am hit. The blow is just so that I am immediately knocked out cold. The last thing I hear is various screams around me as I go down, followed by the crash of thunder and lightning as I hit the sidewalk below.

. . .

My head is thumping; there is a part of it that feels very warm, yet I cannot figure out what exactly is happening. My head feels so heavy, and I feel as if I’ve been hit by a truck immediately as I open my eyes and as the light floods into them. I feel as if I’ve gone blind temporarily, as I see nothing but whiteness; but it soon clears and I find myself propped up on a hospital bed. Looking around the room, I see none other than Olivia sitting beside me.

“Liv?” I whisper, my voice hoarse from lack of use.

“Maggie,” Olivia replies, in a voice full of relief, pulling her chair closer. “How are you feeling?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know... Weird, I guess?”

She gives me a small smile. “Sounds about right.”

“This is our second time in a hospital together,” I say, finding myself laughing before clutching my ribs. “Ow...”

“Honey, be careful,” Olivia says, taking my hand gently. “The fall caused some damage and a crack to one of your ribs. The doctors had to go in for surgery to get out the splintered rib of your lung. You went into shock and they needed some of your blood type...”

“A-positive,” I reply, like a high school health nerd.

“Right, they had you on file here,” Olivia confirms. “I have the same blood type so I stepped up and gave you some of mine...”

“Liv, you shouldn’t have done...”

Olivia chuckles. “Oh, please. I was glad to do it, really.”

“Then what happened?” I ask.

“They got your mother’s number from your file and got an excellent plastic surgeon to fix your nose out here,” she explains. “The hard landing caused it to break, and someone accidentally stepped on your right hand, crushing it pretty badly...”

“I’m left-handed,” I reply. “Not really an issue...” I peer at my legs, and find that I am relieved that they’re not up in the air, suspended by wires. I pull back the hospital blanket; they are covered in black, blue, and purple bruises, but that can’t really be helped... “Anything else that’s a shock to anyone?” I ask, pulling the blanket back in place.

Olivia sighs a little and nods. “Yeah, there was one thing...”

“What?”

“The doctors were convinced that some sort of birth took place,” she replied. “I told them that you didn’t have kids but...”

“Only Don knows about that,” I reply, covering my face with my other hand. “I got an abortion the summer of 2007,” I reply.

“Maggie...” Olivia says softly.

I turn and look at her. “Yeah. Yeah, it was Elliot’s.”

“You’re sure?” she asks.

I give her a look. “I only dated one guy between the attack and Elliot, and he and I, we never...” I shake my head. “After Elliot got back together with Kathy, I didn’t know what to do. That’s why I was got emotional at the soiree after I had heard that they slept together. And then Kathy told him that she wanted him back when she got pregnant again... I went back home that summer totally devastated, and got it done there. Turns out the doctor ratted me out to my family... They’re very devout in their Catholicism, and they said that they would never forgive me for terminating the pregnancy, and then my sister ratted me out that the father was actually a married man...” I shook my head. “Just a big mess all around... It was a very dark period, I’ll admit...”

“Do you think you could’ve taken on a child at this point in your life?” Olivia asks, not unkindly.

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Financially, yes—that’s not an issue. But I’m not in an emotional place to do so. Besides, I would have wanted Elliot involved, but at the same time...”

“You would have wanted him involved with you, and not with Kathy?” Olivia guesses, correctly.

I nod. “Yes. Is that very selfish of me?”

“No, of course not,” Olivia reassures. “If you honestly felt as if you weren’t prepared one-hundred-percent to take on a child at this point in your life, then what you did was the best choice for you.”

“Thanks, that’s good to hear,” I reply. “I hope the doctors here listened to the fact that I had a ‘do not call list’...”

“We explained to your mother that the accident was minor, and we didn’t think that you needed a bunch of family around,” Olivia explained.

“Thanks a lot,” I replied.

“There was another call for you, but I took care of it...”

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Remember that girl you counseled—the one who was in the car accident, who said that she was being abused by her mother’s boyfriend?”

I nodded. “Yes, of course. Edythe. How could I forget? You and... You responded to the scene, of course I remember.”

“Well, as you know her mother’s rights were terminated and her father was deceased,” Olivia explains carefully.

“Yes, I remember Casey telling us,” I reply.

“Well, her mother’s parents took her in after it was found out that her paternal grandmother was in a senior facility and wasn’t able to take her,” she continues on, looking worried. “Well, it seems as though her maternal grandfather has now passed away and her maternal grandmother has terminal cancer. She has no aunts and uncles, and she’s given your name for her social worker, when asked who she wants to live with.”

“Me?” I squeak, shocked. “But she barely knows me...”

“Apparently you made quite an impression on her,” Olivia says. “I explained the short version of your accident and that you’ll need at least a month of physical therapy and another two weeks off of work and then two weeks of desk duty just to be sure, due to potential head trauma. But during your two weeks off work you could go and see her...”

“This isn’t like a puppy or a kitten, Liv. This is a girl. A little girl...”

“She’s nine now, Maggie. She’ll be ten in a few weeks by all accounts. And her grandmother would want Edythe with her until the end...”

“And how long will that be?” I ask.

“She’s projected to live for another three and a half years, but they’ll see,” Olivia replies.

“A thirteen-year-old,” I grumble, crossing my arms. “Ow,” I say, dropping them, my ribs still sensitive. “Just what I need...”

“Don’t make a decision now,” Olivia tells me gently. “You still have your recovery to think about, and they don’t need an answer right away. The grandmother wants the paperwork drawn up within a year.”

“Oh, my, that’s very comforting,” I reply wryly. “Now... Liv, tell me, be honest. I need to know what happened...”

A shadow passes over her face. “You mean after you blacked out?”

“Well, yeah, and...” I lower my voice, like a child about to confide a big secret to an authority figure that seems bigger than it truly is. “Who was the one who...?” I don’t feel the need to finish my sentence for, as I raise my hand to touch the spot where someone had hit me, I feel something roughly the size of an egg, although it is very warm. “Ow...” I say again.

“Don’t touch it,” Olivia urges, catching my hand and putting it down. “The doctors say the swelling should go down within a week and won’t leave a mark, if you’re worried about that...”

“I could always fix my hair so that it covers the blemish, if it comes to that,” I reply, putting on a totally posh British accent, which makes Olivia laugh. “But all jokes aside, Liv, I need to know...”

“It was Elliot who took the accidental swing,” Olivia replies, looking sick as she is honest with me about her best friend and my ex-lover. “I know he’s sorry. I know Hunter ripped him a knew one after he had a chance to calm down a bit. Fin got in there and ruffed them up a bit while Jennings hauled Hunter off and Fin and John took Elliot away to cool off.”

I shake my head, remembering something after blacking out. “There were strong arms lifting me up...” I whisper, shaking my head, my eyebrows knitting together as I attempt to remember more. “I heard the ambulance blaring, and all I remember is being lifted up like a small child to safety...”

Olivia looks shocked. “You were out cold. The doctors said so.”

“But I remember...”

She nods. “It was Don,” she replies, nodding. “Cragen picked you up as soon as he could get over there, yelling at Hunter and Elliot at how disappointed he was in the two of them. He picked you up and held you until the ambulance came.”

I smiled, touched. “I’ll have to thank him... He’s so fatherly...”

“He knows how I feel about you,” Olivia replies. “He knows that I don’t go out on a limb for people unless they’re great at their job like you are. And I know you’re great at your job.”

I smile. “Thanks, Liv, that means a lot.” I let the silence hang there for a moment, not wanting to push her, but wanting desperately to get to the bottom of this. “Tell me what happened to Hunter and Elliot,” I say softly.

“We put them in lock up in the SVU squad room until George arrived to look them over,” Olivia replies. “They didn’t have any injuries other than minor bruising, so a hospital wasn’t necessary.”

“And what did George find?”

“Hunter’s suffering from depression and anxiety over what happened with Jackson, but George dug deeper. Turns out, Hunter suspected that Elliot was your ex all along and was defending your honor.”

“My honor?” I snort at the very idea of it, gripping my ribs again as the pain radiates through my body. “Wow, talk about an outdated expression... Are all shrinks like that?”

“George likes to be formal,” Olivia replied. “Turns out, when he spoke to Elliot, he found that Elliot is still hung up on you. George said that it could only be worked out if you have a conversation about it, or if he resolves himself to be happy and to stay with Kathy.”

I nod. “I think I knew from day one that Elliot and I wouldn’t last,” I reply. “The man never even told me that he loved me, and we were ‘together’, for lack of a better word, for... A long time. My night in New York was our first time together and the first night that I...”

“You certainly felt something for him,” Olivia said softly.

“Infatuation,” I assured her. “When I fall in love, I’ll know it.”

. . .

Within a couple of days, I was permitted to walk around my room for short periods of time, and by the end of the week, I could walk to the cafeteria myself. On my last day in the hospital, I was pleased to see that a catered lunch had been arranged on my behalf, with Olivia, Don, Fin, John, Gloria, Jennings, Wilkes, Diana, Cagney, and Hunter all present. I was slightly pleased to see that Elliot was not there, as it would have been too difficult to have him around.

They were all pleased at my speedy recovery and Jennings was pleased to have one of his detectives on the mend so soon. I managed to pull Don aside at one point and merely embraced him. “You’re amazing,” I said softly.

“Liv told me that you remembered,” he replied. “I was happy to help.”

I chuckle a little; it didn’t hurt as much to laugh now. “You’re a much softer man than my father ever was.” I peer up at him. “It’s comforting to know that I have such a wonderful man, and friend, in my corner.”

Don Cragen smiles. “Any time, Maggie. And I remind you that my door is always open, so don’t hesitate to ever come by.”

The rest of the lunch is wonderful and I am pleased when Hunter offers to escort me home, and I take him up on his offer. We say goodbye to everyone and I sign myself out of the hospital; I am permitted to have the physical therapist come by my house three times a week and other than no excessive trips or heavy lifting, I am allowed to do basically whatever I want. Hunter and I jump into a cab and make the trip from Mount Sinai to Manhattan, to Central Park, where my penthouse is located. I wave to Stanley, who offers his polite congratulations at my homecoming and I head upstairs, not letting go of Hunter’s hand.

Open unlocking the door, I shut it behind the two of us and Hunter promptly pulls me into his arms, kissing me all over. Before I allow my knees to go weak and to submit completely, I manage to loosen his grip entirely and step away from him, giving a good amount of space between us.

“Hunter, please, we have to communicate...”

He sighs. “Olivia told you about my session with Huang?”

I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, she did.”

“Doesn’t that violate confidentiality agreements or something?”

I shrug. “Probably, I don’t know. Probably yes considering we haven’t decided what we are to each other...”

“What do you mean?”

I sigh, perching on the arm of one of my couches—the couch where I’d allowed my reckless teenage girl side to come out and latch onto Elliot. _Never again_ , I told myself, _ever_. “I mean, I don’t know what this is anymore, Hunter,” I reply. “I mean I don’t even know what you want from me. You must be sexually attracted to me, as evidenced by what we’ve been doing for the last month but still...” I shake my head, utterly confused. Rubbing my temples, I manage to peek up at him. “I’m not asking for extravagance here, but seriously... Are we just co-workers—or, rather, police partners—who sleep together? Is that all you want? Because if that’s all you want, then I think I deserve to know...”

“Is that all you want?” he asked.

“It shouldn’t matter what I want,” I reply. “Wait, no that came out wrong... What I mean is, my opinion shouldn’t matter when it’s put up against yours. If you don’t want to be anything other than someone who shares a bed with me, then I get it, but I need you to be upfront with me. If that does happen to be the case, then I don’t think I can do this anymore. The last time it happened, something inside me broke, and I did something totally against how I was raised. I still hate myself a little bit for what I did, regardless if it was the right thing for me to do right then or not, Hunter...”

“Did something happen with Elliot?” he asks.

I sigh. “I want to have the ‘no more secrets’ lecture with you, Hunter, but I can’t do that until we establish what we are to each other. Are we just partners in the Homicide Unit, or are we something else?” I ask, allowing the question to hang there, and I’m feeling a headache coming on. _There are cures for that, other than medicine_ , I think to myself, but my sensible side immediately cuts that off. _No, Holbrook, stay in the ‘don’t touch me’ game_... “I don’t want you to say that you want something more, just because you want to sleep with me,” I say softly, when Hunter remains silent on the subject. “I think I deserve better than that...” I sigh, and shake my head again. “I mean, according to what George deduced and relayed to Olivia, who told me, as you know, you were defending my honor. Was that strictly on law enforcement level, a friends with benefits thing, or was it something else...?” I whisper.

Hunter shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “You know, I know what you want me to say...”

“How can you possibly know that?” I ask him. “How can you possibly know what I want you to say? I’m not the whole white horse, prince charming, all that bullshit that so many women want. I mean, yeah, eventually, I’ll want that. But I want to know, right here, right now, if you have any kind of romantic feelings towards me, Hunter Grayson. I mean, personally, I’d be shocked if you did...”

“What?” he asks, confused.

“Hunter, _look_ at me, and now look at you! You’re gorgeous—you seriously look like a mockup of James Dean, Orlando Bloom, and Johnny Depp! A really young Johnny Depp, but still...”

A wry smile comes into play on Hunter’s lips. “One question— _Pirates of the Caribbean_ Orlando Bloom or _Lord of the Rings_ Orlando Bloom?”

I scoff a little, almost as if we’re attempting to decide between muffins or scones for breakfast at Starbucks. “ _Pirates of the Caribbean_ Orlando Bloom, of course! I mean, please. The way that they did him up in _Lord of the Rings_... He looked like a constipated pre-pubescent girl...”

Hunter crosses to me and pulls me by my waist, so as his body and mine are pressed firmly up against each other’s. “You’re lucky neither or us work in SVU, or else I’d have to ask you how in the hell you know that information...”

I push a little on his chest, still showing resistance. “You still haven’t answered my question, sergeant. How in the hell can someone like you be remotely interested in someone like me?” I hesitate for a moment before putting my fingers momentarily to his lips. “You are interested in me, right?”

He playfully nips at my fingers so that I’ll release his lips. “More than a little,” he replies, putting his forehead against mine. “And you want to know why?” he asks, his hands slipping below my waist and cupping my buttocks, causing me to gasp as he proceeds to knead it gently in his large, capable hands. “It’s because of the effect I have on you, among other things...”

I tip my head back, my hair falling down my back and exposing my neck, causing him to raise his eyebrows ever so slightly in contemplation upon whether or not to capture said neck. “And what effect, sir, could you possibly have on me, and vice versa? For I am a lowly detective with no means of respect for someone merely second in command in the Homicide Unit?”

He grips my buttocks tighter, causing to mewl ever so slightly in unfulfilled pleasure—I was hungry for him and he knew it. “You want me physically, that much is clear, Maggie, but there is something in your eyes, something deeper behind them, that makes me wonder...”

“What?” I whisper, shutting his eyes as he proceeds to nibble at my neck; he does this expertly, sending shivers up and down my spine and goose bumps up my arms and legs.

“It makes me wonder how deep your feelings run, and if, one day, our feelings of mutual attraction will one day turn into love.” He releases me then, kissing me on the forehead before walking to the door.

“Wait!” It is an anguished cry, and I feel like a child as I run after him, desperately, knowing that if I manage to catch him, I won’t let go. “Hunter...”

“What?” He turns to me, smiling. “What is it?”

“Don’t go...” My voice is begging him to stay; he senses that it is not merely for the sexual gratification I know he is capable of giving me, but the need to have someone with me. “Please.”

He puts his arm around my waist. “What do you want?”

“Spend the night with me,” I reply, already tugging him down the hall towards my bedroom. “Please. This time, it’s planned, and not spontaneous. Please, just be with me. That’s all I want... _you_.”

He pretends to be reluctant as he takes me down the hall to my bedroom; he averts his eyes as I change out of everything except an oversized T-shirt, but then think better of it and take it off, slipping naked under my covers. He switches off the light and climbs in beside me, in his own T-shirt and boxers, and, once he puts his arms around me, is shocked to see I am naked. He shakes his head at me in a rather traumatized manner.

“Maggie, no. We can’t...”

I know there is only one way to make him see reason, and I quickly manage to put myself on top of him. “I want to...” I whisper, leaning down and brushing my lips with his. “Please. I want you. I _need_ you...”

“Maggie...”

“Please...” I whisper, and soon, with a frustrated moan, he throws his arms around me and gives me exactly what I want.

. . . 

I make an appointment to see Edythe at the end of the following week, not really expecting much to come out of the visit. Two years is a long time, and I know she could have suddenly morphed into some sort of petulant child who resented authority altogether. As I make the thirty-minute drive on the overcast, rainy day to New York City to the appointed meeting place—The Russian Tea Room—I wonder if she even really remembers me at all.

I enter the tea room and give my name to the flamboyant-looking _maître d_ ’ who takes me to the main room, where I am awed by the gleaming panes of glass which make up the walls of the place. The booths are done up in red velvet and I am shown to the proper one; there is an elderly lady sitting beside Edythe, who has a regal aspect to her, yet kind, silver eyes. I put out my hand as I step forward and the woman immediately gets to her feet.

“Isabelle Bennington,” she says rather grandly, yet not smugly, and takes my hand gently. “You must be Det. Margaret Holbrook. Pleasure to meet you at last. I do recall little Edythe speaking very highly of you, my dear.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Bennington, I assure you,” I reply, as the _maître d_ ’ slips away to seat another couple—a couple in their thirties. “Why, this cannot be young Edythe!”

Edythe nearly runs from the booth to get to me; she wears a pink, stunning dress with a skirt that plumes about her, done up with many petticoats; it has short sleeves yet she wears the matching jacket above, while I’m sure her coat was taken, as mine was, to the cloakroom located off the main entrance. She throws her arms around me, her black hair falling like a shimmering waterfall down her back as she peeks up at me. “I missed you!”

I laughed, bending down to face her completely as Mrs. Bennington excuses herself to the ladies’ room. “I’m surprised you remembered me after all this time, sweetheart,” I reply. “I’m sure your grandmother has many friends that she introduces you to...”

“Yeah, but they don’t do the nasty things like Jake did,” she replies.

I smile, putting my arm around her and shake her ever so slightly. “That’s good, because we don’t want that to happen.”

She wrinkles her forehead then, and I take note of her eyes again—a lovely shade of silver—and wonder if her mother also had the eyes, due to her grandmother having them as well. “Are you going to adopt me?” she asks.

My heart went out to the poor thing; sensibly speaking, it wasn’t that simple; logically speaking, things had to be done before I could even consider adopting Edythe as a member of my family. Yes, I had the room—the penthouse had four bedrooms; I had the financial means to do so—I was a working stiff whose father had paid for my penthouse in full; but adoption? I was over the minimum age limit of foster parenting, twenty-one years of age; indeed, I had taken the mandatory parenting classes at Olivia’s suggestion just in case. But actually going through with fostering and adoption? What if I joined up with an agency who called me at all hours of the day, demanding to know where I was and what I was doing, and wanting to know if they could place a child with me?

But what it came right down to is: _Did I want Edythe to be my daughter_? With her raven hair, silver eyes, angelic face, and the fact that she was gripping onto me like a lifeline, I had to give her some sort of answer. Looking around, I saw that Mrs. Bennington was not coming back yet, so I sighed. “Let’s sit down,” I said softly, taking her hand and pulling her next to me into the booth. “I want you to know, sweetheart, that I have a boyfriend at the moment. He doesn’t live with me, but things are getting serious.”

“A boyfriend?” she asks, immediately on her guard.

“He works with me, actually,” I said, making an effort to calm her down. “He’s a policeman, too—he’s a sergeant. Do you know what a sergeant is?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Well, remember when we met? I was a police officer, and now I’m a detective, just like when you met Detectives Benson and Stabler,” I say, managing to get Elliot’s surname out without screaming. “A police officer is the first rank, then detective, then sergeant, then lieutenant, then captain,” I tell her patiently. “His name is Hunter and he’s one level above me; he’s also my partner, which means whenever there’s someone in trouble, we go and we make sure they’re going to be okay together,” I explain.

“Is he nice?” she asks.

I nod, laughing. “Yes. And I’ve told him about you.”

“Really?” she wants to know.

“Yes. He’s seen that picture I have of the two of us on the mantle in my living room,” I tell her; I am quite proud of the photo that Olivia herself had snapped after her mother’s parental rights were terminated, the last time I saw her. “He wanted to know who the lovely lady was with me, and I told him that you were a friend of mine. He said that sometime he’d like to meet you, if that was all right with you.”

“What does he look like?” she asked.

I remove my HTC HD2 from my pocket and scroll through some of my pictures; thankfully the particularly racy ones are in a separate folder, so I won’t fortuitously show Edythe anything _risqué_. “Here we are,” I saw, showing her a particularly funny one of the two of us in Central Park; a polite hot dog vendor had taken the shot, after I’d promised to upload it to my Yelp and to give his note-worthy stand a positive review.

“He looks funny!” Edythe squealed, laughing at Hunter and how he was biting into his hot dog, adorned with ketchup, mustard, relish, onions, cheese, and sauerkraut, and I laughed with her.

“I wouldn’t let him kiss me for six hours,” I said, and she laughed harder.

Just then, a waiter came running up to the table. “Are you the party here with Mrs. Bennington?” he asks me then.

I nod. “Yeah, I’m a family friend, and this is her granddaughter, Edythe,” I reply patiently to him, removing my gold badge from my pocket. “Detective Maggie Holbrook, Homicide, Manhattan Unit. Something wrong?”

“We have a problem, come now,” he said, and Edythe and I got to our feet and ran after him to the ladies’ room. “She was found by a concerned woman, who alerted our manager,” he explained, walking in. “Mr. Donahue, here are the people who were with Mrs. Bennington today.”

Mr. Donahue, a man with salt and pepper hair, stepped forward. “Clarissa, please take the little one out,” he said, and a woman in a waitress uniform stepped forward and took an obliging Edythe by the hand and led her out.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, flashing my badge again. “Detective Maggie Holbrook, Homicide, Manhattan Unit. What happened?”

“Mrs. Bennington’s been stabbed,” Mr. Donahue replied. “We’ve cleared the area, but you’re permitted to come, since you’re police.”

“You’re damn right I’m police,” I reply. “Close off the area, please, sir,” I call as I move so as I go into the main area of the bathroom. “Oh, my god,” I say, seeing Mrs. Bennington spread out, spread eagled, head smashed in. There was blood seeping from her back, front—particularly in the breast area—from a head wound, and from between her legs. “Oh, my god, she was raped,” I say, stepping forward as I snap on some gloves. “We got a pulse,” I say, nodding to myself and taking out my walkie from my purse. “Homicide Unit to portable,” I say into the electronic device. “We’ve got a stabbing and rape victim in the ladies’ room of The Russian Tea Room. This is Detective Maggie Holbrook, Manhattan Homicide Unit, Badge Number 5147. I need a bus immediately, victim is still breathing, but unconscious. She is bleeding out; I am going to attempt to stop the bleeding, but I need a bus immediately.”

“Copy that, Detective Holbrook, we’re sending a bus over now,” says the voice on the other end as I quickly grab some of the fine white towels from the vanity table opposite.

“I’ll pay for your damn towels,” I say, narrowing my eyes at Mr. Donohue as he attempts to protest my use of them.

. . .

I ride along in the ambulance as I attempt to deduce what on earth the cause would have been for the stabbing of Isabelle Bennington. Edythe is permitted to ride beside me, and does not say a word for the duration of the drive. I step out of the ambulance and see Olivia there, who has come—with Elliot—to take the case from me, as there has been a rape. Elliot, thankfully, goes in to check on Mrs. Bennington while Olivia stays with me, and a kindly hospital nurse agrees to entertain Edythe for a few minutes while we talk.

“The sick bastard Jake and his now-wife, Corrine, are up for early release due to supposed good behavior,” I say, something that I’d heard from Edythe. “It seems as though Mrs. Bennington had agreed to testify against them... Edythe told me once that Jake had a gang, and that he passed her off to some of his friends. Maybe one of the guys owed Jake a favor—save my ass from long-term slammer time and I won’t rat you out for raping my stepdaughter,” I say, feeling sick to even consider such a thing. “It’s possible...”

Olivia nods. “It is. Edythe ever give you any names?”

I nod. “Four. Ryder Phelps, the ringleader; Axel Williams, number two; Rocco Meyers, the dealer; and Daxton Knox, the money man.”

“Fin used to work Narcotics, maybe he knows some of these guys...”

“Send me in,” I reply.

“Pardon?” Olivia asks.

I give her a smile. “Shed the makeup, and I could pass for eighteen or just a little bit under,” I reply. “Sixteen, if we try really hard. Give me a new wardrobe, and you’ve got yourself a cheap, underage, desperate, wannabe hooker, looking for a daddy, or, perhaps, companionship.”

“Maggie...”

“I’m serious, I can do this. Nobody is going to hurt my daughter.”

Olivia’s eyes widen then. “Wow...”

“What?”

“You just called Edythe your daughter,” she replies.

I smile. “She is,” I reply simply. “Now then, when can we take down these rat bastards to ensure that they all go to jail, and to keep Jake and Corrine behind bars for life.”


	5. Easy Pickings

Hunter was very annoyed and against my plan from the get-go, but Don, Fin, John, and Olivia were unbelievably supportive and on board with the whole of the controversial operation. They had a trusted make-up artist come in and do a number of things to my face and an aging expert came and deduced that I could pass for a teenager on the cusp of either her fifteenth or sixteenth birthday. While not every pedophiles dream, according to John, I would at least be appealing to someone out of the group, we hoped. I was also given a personal evaluation by George, who determined that my heart and mind were in the right place and that I was good to go.

“Admit it, you’re going to miss the sex,” I teased Hunter on the eve of me going in on my undercover operation with Fin. “You’re going to miss the sex, Hunter Grayson, and you know it.”

“You’re damn right I’m going to miss the sex,” he growled, pulling me closer to him and continuing to growl into my ear. “I’m going to miss you every moment of every damn day until you come out of this operation...”

I giggle, leaning forward and brushing my lips on various points of his neck and throat. “Well, make the best of it,” I whispered, gently taking some of the stubble of his chin into my mouth. “You’ve got me for nine more hours. Now what do you intend to do about that?”

The following morning, I arrived at SVU to meet with Fin before heading over to Narcotics in order to meet his contact, Roger Blake, who had been undercover in the gang and had left. Now, he was putting his life on the line a second time in order to get the two of us an in. After getting outfitted into hair and makeup—I was given extensions down past my shoulders with pink highlights in them; as for my outfit, I was given a suitcase and then the main outfit, which was a school girl uniform with the tie slightly untied and no over jacket. Fin put up his black hair into a cap and put on clothes that could only be described as ‘gangsta’, which was the exact look he was going for.

We met Roger in the back alley of Narcotics, and his eyes bugged out when he saw Fin walking with me. “You’ve gotta be kidding me, man,” he muttered, one of his unit buddies lurking in the shadows to take our badges.

“Rog, how you doin’?” Fin asked, slapping Roger five. “You all right?”

Roger shook his head at Fin, looking me up and down. “Damn. There is no way you’s a detective...”

“Believe it,” I said, speaking in my normal tone of voice; I’d been instructed to play it high, so as the naivety would be played out accordingly. “Got the badge to prove it,” I said, whipping it out.

“Yo! Put that away, girl!” Roger said, shaking his head at me. “Mario, take their stuff before we move out.”

Mario, another detective, stepped forward and took everything away from us that tied us to our old identities. “I’ve got your new identities right here,” he said, handing file folders to me and to Fin.

“So, you’re my pimp,” I joke to Fin.

“Looks that way,” he replies.

I peer into the few pieces of paper; it has the fake mugshot I took just last week in case the gang members want to check my rap sheet; my new name is CANDACE IRENE MITCHELL, but I’m supposed to tell people that I prefer ‘Candy’. I find out that my mother, PAULINE GRACE FARROW, is deceased and that I was raised by my father, ROBERT JOHN MITCHELL, until I was twelve, when he sold me to Fin in exchange for drug money.

After being sold to Fin, I was made to pose for photos in lingerie starting just after my thirteenth birthday, and begun posing nude at fourteen. Fin, whose undercover name was to be REX GILMORE, was tired of keeping me to himself (mostly due to me getting older and the child porn market drying up) and had decided to work as my pimp, which is where Roger, who was to be called FOX SAUNDERS, came in to the operation, due to the fact that he had prior contact with the gang. Roger’s cover story was that he’d been picked up an alias on another charge and had served his sentence before being released.

I shuffled from foot to foot; I had been put into six inch heels and a push up bra, both very out of character for me. The bra dug into my ribs and I’d been given pain killers which resembled OxyContin, which I’d been instructed to crush up and snort in order to get them into my system more quickly. I’d also been instructed to allow my lips to appear ever so chapped; the classic sign of a teenager who doesn’t care what’s being done to her. I quickly handed over my gun to Mario, thanking him before walking off with Fin and Roger, silently praying that all those years in debutant lessons had paid off—straight walking in heels in abandoned-looking drug den alleys can be deadly.

After walking for a few blocks, we came to what appeared to be a rat-infested area which was at the very back of an alley with numerous twists and turns. The bricks on the buildings around us were threatening to disintegrate, and the only way out besides the main door and back out of the maze was a latter, nailed precariously to the side of the tallest building. Fin nodded to me, pounding his fist to his chest twice, letting me know then that, no matter what, we were on the same side and that he had my back.

Roger then swaggered over to the door, and rapped on it inhumanely. There were several swears from within and when the door opened, an African American man over six feet regarded him. “Brother, how you been?” Roger asked. “Remember me? It’s Fox! Fox Saunders!”

“Yeah, you is,” the man replied, sizing up the three of us. “Ryder and Axel is inside, and you’d better get in there while they have patience.”

“Thanks, Ace,” Roger replied, motioning for Fin and me to follow him.

Immediately, I went into my new persona: Utterly dependent on Fin, a.k.a. Rex, I kept my head down and took small, quick steps after him, careful not to trip in the heels provided for me. Fin squeezed my hand when the bouncer/bodyguard wasn’t looking, to let me know that he always had my back on the inside as we journeyed inside and towards what appeared to be a kitchen. The floor was linoleum and two men in their early thirties sat at the table, using credit cards to cut up cocaine on its glass surface. Fin tensed up immediately; from his days in Narcotics, he recalled the lure of drugs; apparently, he had tested dirty before, but he had never touched the stuff himself.

“Ace in the hole,” Fin hissed at me; it meant we could bust the guys right now on drug charges; or Roger could, as he was in Narcotics now.

“No fire,” I whispered back. “Rabbits sleeping, ducks in a row. Back to it.” I kept my head down, and it looked as if Fin and I were discussing the pros and cons of sea salt versus table salt.

“Whatever you say,” Fin replies, turning from me and ambling towards the table where Roger was already getting reacquainted with Ryder and Axel, who both mutually seemed pleased at his return.

“Guys, this here is Rex Gilmore,” Roger tells Ryder and Axel. “Rex here knows about the initiation process, and he’s prepared to do it. But, he brought a little gift for the two of you.”

Axel snorts at that, continuing to cut up the drug. He has closely cropped black hair and appears to be half African American, half Caucasian. “Maybe,” he says, rolling up a fifty-dollar bill and leans over, using it to snort the white powder he’s created.

Ryder, who has skin as fair as mine and doesn’t seem to be the patient type, slaps Axel hard on the arm. “Cool it,” he says, before turning to Fin. “Rex. Good to meet you,” he says, smiling, showing a set of perfect teeth. “Whatcha got?”

Fin nods, used to surly, entitled attitudes. “Candy, get over here,” he says, making his voice so unrecognizable that I feel the hairs on my arms stand up as I manage to trip towards him. “Stop. Stay,” Fin says, the real meaning in his eyes indicating that I’m doing a good job.

Ryder gets up from the table and looks me over; he pulls me over so as I am standing more in the light; he reaches down and tilts my chin up roughly, and I force myself to make eye contact with him. “Candy, huh?” he says, running his hands all over my body and making me feel sick. He cups my backside and I let out a surprised squeal, and he chuckles, his other hand moving to my breasts; he takes ahold of my nipples, hard, and squeezes them. The tears that fall down my face are real. “She’s lovely, Fin,” he says. “But there’s no...family resemblance, if you catch my drift...”

“Nah, she ain’t mine,” Fin replies. “Daddy owed me a debt a few years back; he wanted drugs, didn’t want her. He was making her go out hooking, so I told her Daddy if he wanted drugs so badly, to hand her over. Made a few pretty pennies off of her these last few years...”

“Really?” Ryder asks, turning halfway to look at Fin. “Child porn?”

“You bet,” Fin replies. “Got myself a real sweet setup, too. My cousin’s in Computer Crimes, so he’s hacked the system with excellent fire proof equipment so that we can never be tracked down by a specific server.”

“That’s amazing,” Ryder replies, turning back to me. “Tell me,” he says, hooking his strong fingers around my jaw, “how old are you, sweetheart?”

I immediately look past Ryder to Fin, who nods, before turning back to look up Ryder himself. “Almost sixteen,” I reply.

“Fifteen, ripe for the plucking...” Ryder begins.

“Sorry,” Fin interrupts, already set with a backstory, “had myself a little auction about a year and a half ago for the kid’s virginity when things were strapped down real tight. She went real peaceful, but the memories are amazing,” Fin assured him, grinning across the room at Ryder. “I have a disc of it, if you ever want to see how she handled herself...”

“Might be good to know what she likes,” he said, not releasing me. “Tell me, my lovely, what do you do?”

“Whatever you want me to do,” I reply. “I can be good, and I can be naughty. I can lie there and do nothing, or I can be involved. It’s all down to what the man wants in this sort of arrangement,” I say softly, lowering my eyes. “But I’m always ready for any man who wants a good time, if Rex says it’s okay...”

“She’s obedient?” Ryder asks.

Fin nods. “Yes. Just no tying her up or BDSM. We still do the photo shoots and videos now and again; the following doesn’t like to see her bruised. We go through more concealer with this one than any of the other girls I’ve worked with...”

“Pity,” Ryder replies. “I would have loved to have tied her to my bed while she begs me to allow her to have a release...”

“Well, perhaps something can be arranged,” Fin replies.

Ryder turns, taking the bait, to Fin, the handler. “What do you want?”

“I have experience being a bodyguard, if you ever want another one,” Fin tells him, like he’s making a business deal. “Just don’t physically hurt Candy—no physical marks on her...”

“That’s all?” Ryder asks.

“No,” Fin replies. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours...”

Axel looks up; he is high as a kite, but he is able to keep up with the conversation as Roger watches him snort the coke. “He wants the stuff...”

“Cool it, Ax,” Ryder replies, holding up a hand to his subordinate. “You let me have Candy to myself, you show me the website of her, I let you be my other bodyguard _and_ I show you what I got.”

“You got a deal,” Fin replies, and they shake hands. “But my girl is special... Only take her to your room, okay?”

Ryder chuckles. “Of course,” he says, grabbing me by my waist and hauling me to a bedroom located at the end of the hall, Fin waving goodbye to me as if I’m merely going off to school for six hours.

A lump develops in my throat as the door closes behind me, and Ryder hauls me to the opposite side of the room. Thinking that it is a test—that he doesn’t believe that I deserve to be taken on the bed just yet—I fall to my knees in front of him. “I’ll do whatever you want, sir,” I say, gripping at his hands. “Please... Please don’t hurt me!” I beg, tears welling in my eyes.

Ryder smirks, putting me in an armchair across from his stool and perches in front of me. “Candy... It’s a sexy name, as sexy as you are. But I don’t do teenagers,” he says, shaking his head.

I lower my eyes. “I could put my hair up in ponytails,” I reply. “I’m shaved down there... We could pretend...”

“Damn, Rex has got you brain-washed, doesn’t he?” Ryder asks, shaking his head at me. “I’m not a pedophile.”

I raise my eyes to his. “Then what are you?” I ask.

He immediately drops his New York accent and an upper-class British accent takes its place. “Special Agent Edward Stewart, Scotland Yard,” he replies.

“I... What?” I ask.

He nods. “Yeah. I’ve been investigating these sick sons of bitches for years, and I was just getting somewhere when you all showed up... Why does every pimp in the world want to tempt me?” he demands softly.

“I was told you were the ringleader,” I say softly.

“Ringleader?!” Edward scoffs. “Please. Just of this small quadrant of pedophiles, of which I’m _not_ one,” he assures me. “The real big guy is called Moreno, Tony Moreno.”

“The serial rapist, wanted for murder,” I say softly.

“You’re starting to sound like a cop,” Edward says.

I cross my arms and sit back in the chair. “I _am_ a cop,” I reply. “Shit... Did I just blow my cover?”

“No. I’m one, too, so you’re fine,” Edward tells me. “Officer...?”

“Detective,” I reply, putting out my hand. “Detective Maggie Holbrook. I’m not a minor; I’m twenty-three,” I tell him.

“Maggie, you ever do any acting?”

“In high school,” I reply. “I turned down The Julliard’s drama school because I wanted to be a cop.”

“And your Julliard is like our Oxford, so that’s good enough for me,” Edward replies, taking me by the hand and putting me down on the bed. “I’m going to tie your wrists to the headboard and your ankles to the footboard,” he explains. “I will take the headboard and hit it against the wall. I need you to scream as hard as you possibly can. Can you do that?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.” I lie back in the center of the bed, extending my arms and legs so as he can do his worst.

“Now!” he whispers.

“What are you doing, Ryder?!” I cry out, and he proceeds to hit the headboard to the wall. “Ow! You’re hurting me!” I cry out, feeling the tears flowing down my cheeks in fear of the situation. “You’re hurting me! Please stop!” I yell.

After another fifteen minutes, Edward unties me from the bed and helps me to my feet; looking me over, he removes the tie and tears my shirt and my skirt ever so slightly before ripping my socks and making me just wear the heels by themselves before hesitating. Finally, he shakes his head and moves towards the bedroom door, almost as if he had an idea but thought better of it. And I have an idea of what kind of idea he has.

“I’ll hit myself,” I tell him. “You don’t have to do that.”

He turns around and shakes his head. “If you do it to yourself, the trajectory will be all off,” he explains. “The bruises will look self-inflicted, so it won’t look real, and then it’ll just be bad for everyone.” He gives me a small, compassionate smile. “I can’t do that to you, Maggie. It would be wrong.”

I advance upon him then, getting right into his face. “You’ll blow the whole operation of you being a supposed macho man,” I growl at him, sounding so unlike myself that it frightens me. “For god’s sakes, I don’t give a damn about your ego—I care about my daughter. Now, hit me now, or I’ll scream and my pimp will come running in here to kill you.”

“Maggie, I...”

“Here, now it’ll be even,” I reply, reaching up and punching him in the face; the blow was enough to hurt, but not enough to do damage. “Hit me!” I hiss at him, clenching my jaw and waiting for the blow.

He raises his hand, wincing ever so slightly as he makes a fist and punches me in the face; I know I will have a black eye by tomorrow, but it wasn’t so severe due to his half-gentleness so as my eye wouldn’t swell. He then grabbed be roughly by the arms and threw me against the wall; my grunt of pain was convincing. As I slid down the wall, I egged him on mockingly, as he proceeded to punch and kick me in my legs.

By the time we slipped out of his bedroom, and I managed to limp to Fin, I flashed a smile for him and him alone. Edward went to go sit with Axel, snorting more cocaine and told Axel and Roger—and Tiny, the bouncer who had greeted us at the door—that we could be trusted. I was given the small back room to share with Fin, not that it mattered, and we were permitted to go back there, undisturbed.

“What did that sick bastard do to you?!” Fin demanded as soon as we were alone, looking me over. He held my joints and limbs and shook his head when I winced at the very real pain. “I’m pulling you out of this...”

“You can’t,” I reply. “We don’t want Edward... Ryder to start doubting me now, Fin... We can’t...”

“Edward?! Who the hell is Edward?!” he hisses so as nobody outside will be able to hear us.

I sigh. _Dammit, cover blown_ , I think to myself. “Ryder’s real name is Edward Stewart. He’s a Special Agent for Scotland Yard,” I say very quietly. “Showed me his badge and everything,” I go on; he had, although he kept it hidden in a loose floorboard underneath his bed. “He tried to talk me out of all this,” I say, indicating my sore limbs which would develop into bruises tomorrow. “I told him he had to so that everyone else would know that he’d broken me...”

“That sick son of a...”

“Fin, please,” I say. “Anger is due here, but not at Edward,” I scold him. “Edward isn’t even the head of operations—he’s only the ringleader for this small faction of dealers and child pornographers...”

“Okay, so he’s not our target?”

“No,” I reply. “But he’s going to lead us to our target.”

“How can he lead us to our target?”

“Well, you’re his new bodyguard...”

“Yeah, but what about you, Maggie?!” Fin demands. “What has he convinced you to do?!”

I lower my eyes. “Not me. Candy. Candy is going to be Ryder’s girlfriend in order to gain access to the big man.”

“Okay. And who’s the big man?”

“Tony Moreno,” I reply, raising my eyes to his. “Tony Moreno, and we’re going to ensure he gets a needle in his arm.”

. . .

I stand before the cracked mirror in Edward’s bedroom; tonight is the night. I’ve been given a new outfit for my loyalty—a mini dress in red with platform heels to match; a diamond collar necklace and matching earrings; and a white fur coat. I have put on a generous amount of red lipstick, and have been allowed to use the shower facilities for double the amount of time we’re usually permitted. Edward smiles at me in the mirror, kisses my cheek, and tells me that it is time. I take his offered arm as we walk from his bedroom, down the hall, through the living room and out the front door; Fin, Roger, Axel, and Tiny are following.

We get into a black stretch limo with tinted windows, and Tiny and Roger go to sit up front with the driver. I sit in the back center seats with Edward, while Axel and Fin sit in front of us opposite. Edward has a protective arm around me, and we make small talk as we drift closer and closer to our destination—Tony Moreno’s own penthouse in Brooklyn. Axel proceeds to do more cocaine on the small glass table in front of us, and soon passes out due to the effect of the drugs; even though the door to the small sliding door between the driver’s area and the passenger area is shut, we don’t dare make secret conversation. Edward told me to warn Fin that the car could be bugged.

“You remember tonight?” Edward asked.

I nod. “Yeah. Mr. Moreno is your boss and your friend. I have to keep him happy, please him if he asks. I can do it.” 

Edward smiles and kisses me on the cheek again, while Fin makes a good effort not to roll his eyes at the dangerousness of this situation. Edward takes my hand and strokes my knuckles. “You’re good to me, baby,” he says, motioning for me to put my head onto his shoulder. “Tonight, you’ll prove how good you really are for me and for Tony...”

We arrive at the penthouse, and the architecture can only be described as horribly gaudy; we enter through the main double doors via a doorman, and learn that this whole building is owned by Tony Moreno. We make our way down the marble hallway and Edward knocks at the cream-colored French doors and waits. They soon open, and a portly man in impressive clothing greets Edward as he would a favored son, throwing his arms around him and giving off a great belly of laughter as he lets him go.

“And this must be your beautiful Candace,” he says, taking me by the hand and kissing me on the cheek. “My dear, welcome. Come and meet my family,” he says generously, giving mere nods to the rest of the company before throwing each of his arms around me and Edward and leading us inside. “Everyone!” Moreno calls and soon attention is given. “Please greet our brother, Ryder.”

“Ryder,” says the company, happily, raising their glasses.

“And here, my good family, is Candace Mitchell, the woman that Ryder has chosen to lead his part of the gang with him,” Moreno says, pulling me in closer to him as his whole family greets me. “My darling Candace, my sons—Tony, Jr., Frankie, and Stephen,” he says, indicating strapping men in the front who nod to me in a friendly manner. “Their wives—Donna, Edna, and Grace. And please meet my daughters—Marilyn, the twins Gabriella and Gianna, and Rebecca. Then their husbands—Vinny, Matthew, Nicholas, and Johnny.”

“Very nice to meet all of you,” I say softly, giving each a small smile before forcing myself to lower my eyes.

“Ryder, she’s a sweet one,” Tony assures Edward, nodding in approval.

“Learned how to pick ‘em from the best, Tony,” Edward replies.

Tony threw back his head and laughed, pulling us into the party and giving all of us champagne, despite my reported age of sixteen—I’d chosen this date as my fake birthday, and Tony knew it. He claimed that something special was bound to happen tonight, and I pretended to look like the luckiest girl in the world. I saw a few undercover detectives, sergeants, and other members of the police community at the party, and knew that tonight was it. When I spotted Olivia, we pretended to be long-lost friends and quickly slipped away so as she could outfit me with a wire underneath my dress; the trick of the evening was to get alone with Tony, and to allow him to feel safe and secure with heavy petting, and to ply him with my feminine wiles. However, it would be game over if my dress came off and he got what he wanted completely; I wasn’t keen on dying tonight, and I knew that I could not, under any circumstances, play this fast and loose. I had to be precise and methodical, and to remember all my training.

I soon found my way back to Edward, and, knowing that my absence—no matter how small and insignificant—could be construed as suspicious. In order to keep up with the façade, I ran to him, threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. I felt the shock of a lifetime when my heart skipped a beat at this level of intimacy with him; we’d been living together for nearly a month and nothing on this level had ever happened between us. I’d told him of Hunter and our relationship and, while Edward himself was single—due to his high-priority work—yet he seemed to understand that nothing could _really_ happen between us. However, I could not risk my cover getting blown, so I knew I had to do this; I had to let the company believe that Edward and I, or, rather, Ryder and I, were madly in love. To do that, I had to get creative.

I managed to convey to Edward the fact that there were officers in the midst of us, mixing with the Moreno clan, and that I’d been outfitted with a wire. I was soon pulled away from him by the Moreno daughters, who wanted to know my full life story. I said that although I’d been kicked out of high school, I’d gotten my GED and wanted desperately to be a socialite as wonderful as they were one day; that seemed to please them enough and we moved on to more important topics. These included—what handbags went best with certain nail polish colors; would they look better in pastel or warm colors; or the fact that they believe the Hiltons had stolen their life story.

Finally, midnight came and the party was still in full swing, despite the fact that we’d been there for three hours. I was worried that Tony would pass out, but he had shot up something in order to keep him fully awake. I managed to put myself in his way and he was charmed enough to give me a tour of his house. I casually brought up my history with him, and, while comforting, he made it seem like my ‘father’ had done no wrong.

“He hurt you, that much is clear,” Tony told me. “However, there are better ways to go about that sort of thing.”

I blinked, doing my best to look utterly shocked. “What?!” I cried.

He patted my shoulder, allowing my smooth skin to allow his hand to fall ever so slightly to cup my breast; thankfully the wire was on the other side. “Yes. It should never be the father who does that to his daughter. It should be another trusted adult to do that sort of thing...”

I lower my eyes. “I don’t understand...”

He chuckles, pushing my chin up so that I can look at him. “It’s all right, my dear, really. I am merely inferring that child pornography is not such a bad thing. When I did it, and I did do it, it was sort of a freeing activity. I suddenly found myself in charge of such a vulnerable, beautiful creature, and knew that, deep down, despite my desires, I would never, ever, bring harm to them.”

“You don’t think they were hurt?” I ask softly.

He shakes his head. “No. Because I was not their father, the kind of psychological damage that incest brings never came into play.”

I find myself smiling up at him, and in that moment, I fully became Candace Mitchell, at the disposal of a well-known mob boss and self-proclaimed lover of child pornography. “I wish you could have helped me,” I reply. “I wish you had been the one behind the camera... My daddy would beat me whenever I wouldn’t do the things he had me do right... I mean, I was just a little girl when he made me start, and of course I had no idea what I was doing...”

“You would have been a perfect flower ready for plucking,” he replies, pulling me into his arms; he stank of booze, and it took all I had not to shove his meaty hands off of me. “A flower I would give anything to pick right now...”

“Would I have been your favorite?” I ask.

He chuckles. “My favorite? Well, my favorite was a delicious little girl called Edythe Bennington, but that is another story... Now, would you like to accompany me to the Master Suite?”

“NYPD, hold it right there!” Olivia shouted, and soon, back-up surrounded her from all sides.

“What did I do?!” Tony demands, stepping away from me.

“Admitting that you’re a pedophile, along with the rape of Edythe Bennington, plus solicitation of a minor,” Olivia says, holding her gun aloft. “Cuff him,” she orders the cops around her, who remove cuffs from their pockets and immediately step forward.

“I knew it,” Tony growls, knocking an officer unconscious then and grabbing ahold of his gun. He has me in a choke hold in two seconds flat and doesn’t let me go. “She’s a cop, too, huh?! Huh?!” he demands, shaking me so as he inadvertently pistol whips the side of my head.

“Stop it!” I squeal. “Tony, I’ll be so good to you... He _wasn’t_ going to force me!” I cry out, peeking at Olivia, who nods in approval.

“It doesn’t matter,” Olivia says firmly. “We need to take him in, let the girl go!” she says, narrowing her eyes.

I look through the crowd; gathered together are Hunter, Elliot, and Edward, all men that I had had some kind of romantic feelings for. I knew it then; I was going to die, and I wanted to die with dignity. Forcing the tears out of my eyes, I turned to Moreno, knowing this was it. “Yeah, I am a cop,” I say to him, and immediately see Hunter, Elliot, and Edward look shocked. “I’m Detective Margaret Holbrook of the Manhattan Homicide Unit, not some innocent teenage girl. Yes, I deceived you and your whole gang. So what are you going to do about it? Prove yourself to be a real man and blow my fucking head off, you sick son of a bitch!” I yell rather triumphantly at him, knowing that the more I provoke him, it will get the desired results: I will get shot, and then Olivia—or some other officer—will be able to take him down.

A shot is fired, and I know then that it is fired at Moreno; it lands him in the knee cap, but as he goes down, I realize that the gun he held was so tightly gripped that the trigger goes off as he falls. I let out a scream then, falling to my knees as the officers’ haul Moreno away as I fall to my knees. Clutching my abdomen, I peek up through my hair as Olivia, Hunter, Elliot, Edward, and Fin surround me then as I try to stop the bleeding. My attempts are futile as the blood seeps from between my fingers and onto the marble floor; it almost doesn’t look like I’ve been shot due to the color of my dress, which is when I know...

“Double-agent,” I manage to get out, pointing one shaking finger at Edward; blood droplets follow my hand as I fall the rest of the way onto the marble floor, and black takes over my vision.

. . .

I knew I was in a sterile environment the moment I heard the monitor beeping; in the second moment, I smelled the cleaning solution that was used to keep those well-thought-out establishments clean. I was so exhausted that I slipped back into sleep, not even bothering to open my eyes. I _did_ , however, manage to hear a few conversations while I was out.

“Ell, you need to go home.” Olivia’s voice. “How are you going to explain to Kathy where you’ve been?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Elliot, you’re not even with Maggie anymore. That ship has sailed. You made your choice when you decided to sleep with Kathy...”

“It shouldn’t have been casual,” he replies, quietly. “Do you realize how badly I wanted her? How much I loved her? Goddammit, Liv,” he says, and suddenly, I hear him breaking down.

“Elliot...”

“I know it’s wrong,” he replies. “I know how wrong it is... But I can’t help it. I know there’s an age difference but if she asked for me back in her life, I wouldn’t hesitate to...”

“Elliot, don’t say that,” Olivia tells him. “You love Kathy, and the kids. All five of them. Remember?”

“Liv, don’t throw me into the guilty party...”

“Elliot, I’m serious. You’re not some teenager who can go willy nilly into the pants of any woman he wants...”

“I know,” he says softly. “I just...”

“Ell...”

“Liv, I’m in love with her, and I will be for the rest of my life...”

And then the blackness swallowed me up again.

. . .

“How is she?”

 _Cragen_ , I want to shout, but am unable to do so.

“Still fading in and out. The doctor’s think that she can hear us but she’s so exhausted and it’s too soon to tell.”

“Liv, how long have you been here?”

“Since they let her have visitors. It’s been nice just sitting in the quiet. And I know she’ll appreciate having someone here when she wakes up.”

“Don’t you think Hunter could do that?” Cragen asks. “Or, don’t you think he’d want to be the one to do that?”

“Hunter was taken into another room here,” Olivia replies. “A few of Moreno’s guys got to him—gave him some nasty stab wounds... Why are you so out of the loop?” she asks, chuckling.

“Buried in paperwork, I confess,” Cragen replies. After a moment, he says, very quietly, “What do you think about Maggie joining us at SVU?”

“I’d love it, but due to her...complicated past relationship with Elliot, I think it would be awkward and uncomfortable for her...”

“But have you ever discussed it with her?”

“We got a drink over Christmas a few weeks before the Father Benedict bust,” she replies easily. “I know it was a risky move because she was supposed to be a nun undercover, but we took the risk anyhow...”

“And what did you learn during your clandestine meeting?” Cragen asked.

“She wants to work for us,” Olivia replied, “but ever since she met with Edythe, I saw something shift inside her...”

“Something like what?”

“It’s so hard to explain,” Olivia says quietly. “She told me over drinks that she thinks she can’t deal directly with live victims. She’s just not ready for all that yet, but I know she will be...”

“You going to train her?” Cragen joked.

Olivia chuckled. “Yeah. Yeah, I could see myself doing that.”

I was relieved when the blackness returned.

. . .

“How’s she holding up?”

 _Fin_ , _I’m fine_ , I want to scold him.

“Banged up pretty bad—lost a lot of blood...”

“Which you donated,” Fin replies. “You’re both A-positive, right?”

“Actually, don’t tell Hunter, but Elliot insisted on donating it this time around... I think it was the guilt...”

 _Crap_ , I thought. _Fin knows_?!

“He should feel guilty,” Fin said defensively. “He’s my friend, Liv, you know that, but so it Maggie. Poor kid really fell hard for him, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she did...”

“Liv, Maggie and I got real close undercover. Not her and Elliot or her and Hunter close, but I think I became like a father figure to her like Cragen...”

“I’m sure you did, Fin,” Olivia replies. “You’re good at what you do, especially if it involves dressing up.”

“Real funny, Liv. But I’m serious. She told me some things...”

“Did she?”

“She told me about the baby,” Fin replies. “About how she realized what condition she was in after she heard about Elliot and Kathy...”

“Yeah,” Olivia says softly. “I hope you can understand why Cragen and I couldn’t tell you...”

“I understand,” Fin replies. “Just don’t keep any information about my son away from me again, okay?”

“No problem,” Olivia replies.

 _Fin has a son_?! I thought before oblivion took me away once more.

. . .

“So, when are you going to ask her?” Olivia asks.

“As soon as I think she’s ready.” Hunter’s voice.

“You don’t think it’s a little too soon?” she wants to know.

“How should I know?” Hunter asks.

Olivia chuckles softly. “Customarily, you say ‘I love you’ first...”

My heart skipped a beat... _Was Hunter thinking of proposing marriage_?! It was indeed too soon...

“Well, hopefully she’ll go for it,” Olivia goes on.

It is then that I don’t feel the wall of blackness threatening to come forth and slowly permit myself to open my eyes. “Ready for what?” I ask, and soon, two pairs of eyes are on me.

“Hey!” Hunter says, rushing to my side and taking me by the hand. “How’s the heroine of the week?”

“The week?” I demand, managing to sit up completely as Olivia props up my pillows to have me lie comfortably. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been out for five days,” Olivia replies. “The medication must’ve finally worn off enough to wake you up.”

I shook my head, trying to clear it. “And Moreno?”

“He’s been charged,” Hunter tells me; he runs his hand along my knuckles, and I feel a rather delicious feeling inside at being wanted. “Child pornography, rape of a minor, solicitation of a minor, and we’re still waiting on the other murder and rape charges,” he goes on.

“In any case, he’s got getting out for a real long time,” Olivia says.

“Good,” I reply. “And where’s Edythe?”

“In the waiting room,” Hunter says. “She’s met me and things went really well, and I told her that it was lovely to meet her.”

“You did?!” I cry, delight in my voice.

He nods. “Yes.”

“Do you want to be her father?” I ask, just to clarify.

“She’s lovely, and intelligent, just like you,” Hunter says. “I would love nothing more than to be her father.”

“But what about Mrs. Bennington?” I ask, turning to Olivia.

She sighs. “She never made it out of surgery, the wounds were just too severe,” she tells me quietly.

I shake my head. “That poor, poor woman...” The silence hangs between us for a while before I turn my eyes back to Hunter. “Ready for what?”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Olivia says, grinning at the two of us as she walks to the door to my room. “I’ll let everyone know you’re awake.”

“Liv?” I call.

She turns around. “Yeah, Maggie?”

“Could you please have someone bring in Edythe?” I ask, feeling secure at last with Hunter’s arm around me. “We have to speak with her.”

“I’ll bring her myself,” she replies, waving to the pair of us as she leaves the room and the pair of us alone.

Turning back to Hunter, I give him a pouting look. “Please, Hunter. Tell me what is going on...”

“A few things, actually...”

“Yes?”

“Well, first of all, I’ve been promoted to Lieutenant of the Manhattan Homicide Unit,” he tells me, a little gleeful at the prospect.

“Hunter, that’s amazing!” I cry, throwing my arms around him.

“Wait, there’s more,” he says, easing me back into my bed. “Gloria has decided to retire. She’s going back to school to become a teacher.”

“Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head. “It’ll be sad to see her go...”

“And Wilkes is moving to IAB,” he tells me.

“Well, I think that’d be good for him,” I reply. “So, is Cagney going to be our new Sergeant of Homicide?” I ask.

“No, actually. Cagney is pleased with where he is so he hasn’t been asked to take the promotion. We do have two new detectives coming in probably in the next few weeks. There’s Josephine Partridge, who goes by Jo, and she’s coming in from the Baltimore Unit. And then there’s Nathaniel Barnes, he goes by Nate; he used to be a beat cop but he got promoted; he hails from Salem, Oregon.”

“Wow, seems like I have a whole lot of new people to meet...”

“And a new job, if you want it.”

I raise my eyebrows. “What are you saying?”

“Well, naturally the title of Sergeant would fall to you, as I’ve been promoted to Lieutenant and our other senior detective doesn’t want the job...”

“Are you serious?” I ask.

He nods. “I am. Derrick’s on board, and Cragen spoke up for you, too at the meeting to figure out our next Sergeant. Even Munch, Fin, Stabler, and Benson stood up for you, too. And Cagney—he thinks you’re the best one in the unit for the job, Maggie.”

“Wow!” I cry. “Sergeant Maggie Holbrook...”

“Margaret,” Hunter jokes, kissing my forehead. “The promotion is yours, pending how well you do on the exams, and if you want it...”

I nod. “I want it.”

He grins at me. “Good...”

“Now, what else is there for me to know? Something about you waiting until I was ready... Are you proposing to me?”

Hunter laughs. “Not yet. I wanted to ask you if you would like to move in together so that we can adopt Edythe as domestic partners, meaning that we will be seen as a true couple...”

“You actually want to be with me?” I ask. “Even though I kissed Edward and all of that went down...”

“You were undercover,” Hunter replies. “As far as I’m concerned, Candace ‘Candy’ Mitchell kissed Edward, not Maggie Holbrook.”

I sigh. “There’s one thing I have to tell you...”

“Is it about you and Elliot?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to know.”

I reach out and position his face so as he is looking at me. “Elliot doesn’t know about it, but I think you need to know.”

“What is it, then?”

I sigh. “After I found out that Elliot and Kathy got back together, I pretty much ran home to Seattle and cried my eyes out to my older sister, Stella. She basically was supportive until she figured out that Elliot had left me for his wife, and that they were still married. After she discovered...”

“What?”

I raise my eyes to Hunter’s. “I was pregnant with Elliot’s baby,” I reply. “I was only a few weeks, and I just wanted everything to be over. I went to a clinic and got an abortion before coming back. Only a handful of people know, all cops, and they’ve promised to keep it from Elliot. I don’t want to destroy the family unit he’s created and recreated...”

“So, that’s why you and your family don’t talk?”

I nod, feeling vulnerable. “Yeah. They’re Catholic. It killed them to know that not only was I having premarital sex, but I was also cavorting around with a married man and that I’d dared to get pregnant, and that I dared to end the pregnancy on my terms...”

Hunter puts his arms around me. “You’ve had to bear the weight of this on your own shoulders on your own for so long. I’m so sorry...”

I feel safe and secure in his embrace. “Thank you, Hunter...” I pull back then and regard him with a smile. “When am I getting out of here...?”

“Tomorrow,” Hunter replies, keeping his arms wrapped around me, almost as if he didn’t want to let me go. “The doctor said that if you woke up today, then you can leave tomorrow...” He pauses for a moment and then says, “I was really worried about you when you went under. We’re investigating your claims of Ryder being a double-agent...”

“Finding anything?” I ask.

“Yes, actually. Apparently he was with Scotland Yard but his affiliation with them ended soon after he joined Moreno’s gang...”

“Good to know my claims aren’t going unfounded,” I say, with a mighty, and deserved, sigh of relief. “Hey, maybe Liv can call of Edythe? I’m tired again. I know. Why don’t we take her to the park tomorrow?”

“Central?” Hunter jokes.

“No, Hyde. Yes, Central!” I cry out as Hunter takes out his phone, and I’m able to slip back into oblivion one last time.

. . .

I am sitting on a park bench the following afternoon with Hunter, waiting for a social worker to bring Edythe to us. Our appointed meeting time was three o’clock, and I’ve been out of the hospital since eleven a.m. that same morning. I found just how wonderful it was to take a shower in my own penthouse again, as well as wearing something that wasn’t designed for a wannabe teenaged porn star, which is just how I described my undercover uniform. I then hear a familiar voice and, turning ever so slightly, I see Edythe walking and chattering to her social worker, but the chatter breaks off when she sees us.

“Hey, sweetheart!” I say, getting to my feet and holding out my arms to the girl, who promptly dashes forward and hops into my arms to hug me properly as the social worker shakes our hands but moves to give us some privacy. “Wow, your hair is just getting longer and longer,” I say, lifting up the long, wavy black mane of what is Edythe’s hair.

“I like it long,” she tells me.

“Well, it makes you look like a princess,” Hunter tells her, bending down for a hug for himself.

Edythe laughs, launching herself into his arms. “Thank you!” she says, her voice a heartfelt soprano which ends on a musical laugh as he lifts her up.

“Edythe, Hunter and I have something we’d like to discuss with you,” I say, taking her hands from where she is in Hunter’s arms.

“Am I in trouble?” she asks, her brow furrowing in concern.

“No of course not,” Hunter says quickly.

“Not at all,” I tell her. “Actually, it’s a good thing.”

“How is it good?” she wants to know.

I grin up at her, the inquisitive little thing. “How would you like to become a permanent member of Hunter’s and my family?”

“Permanent?” she asks. “Like a marker?”

“Sort of like a marker,” Hunter says, laughing.

“We’d like to adopt you,” I tell her. “Hunter and I would like to be your mother and father...”

“Yes!” Edythe squeals, throwing her arms around me in the enthusiastic manner that any child should, and I myself take her into my arms. “Do you mind I call you ‘Mama’?” she asks me. “I used to call my mom ‘Mom’...”

I smile, despite the fact that I think she should have no loyalty towards her mother, I myself won’t fault her for it. “Of course you can call me ‘Mama’,” I tell her, lowering her to the ground and motioning to the social worker that we were going to walk with her and, thankfully, she nodded her permission.

Edythe runs ahead, determined to find the same hot dog vendor who sold the monstrosity of a hot dog to Hunter, and maybe some popcorn and cotton candy. I also remembered a stuffed animal truck that rotated around the park, and vowed to buy Edythe a teddy bear of some kind.

“You okay?” Hunter asks, waving to Edythe to let her know that she had to stick close to us—in our line of work, we know the dangers of being an unsupervised child; no one is safe.

I nod. “Yeah, it’s just...”

“What?” he asks when I don’t continue right away.

I sigh and turn to look at him. “I want to find my birth mother and father,” I reply before turning and waving to Edythe, who has found the hot dog vendor, and is already placing her order.


	6. I Get Knocked Down

“We have a shot detective, clear the way!” scream the EMT’s as I rush after them into the hospital, St. Vincent’s, in the heart of Manhattan.

I rush after them, not even bothering to see if I’m allowed in the particular area; I haven’t slept in over twelve hours due to me patrolling the area with Cagney, as Captain Jennings is out of town and Hunter had to take over the unit temporarily. I felt very drained, knowing that this shootout was on me. I was finally cut-off from my run towards the stretcher by a nurse.

“Honey, you can’t go back there...”

“Detective Cagney is my partner, ma’am...”

“Miss—”

“It’s _Sergeant_ Maggie Holbrook,” I say, waving my superiority in her face, wholly impatient with her impeding my work. “Now, I have to check out my partner to make sure he’s okay.”

“Well, _Sergeant_ , that’s not your call. You can go and see him when they say you can go and see him.”

I glare at her. “Fine,” I say, moving to go to the waiting room.

“Whoa, honey,” the nurse says, grabbing me and leading me down another hallway, “I can’t let you go in there either.”

“Excuse me?!” I demand. “Get your hands off me! I am a law enforcement officer, and I command you to let me go!”

The nurse jerks me along behind her. “And I’m Cleopatra,” she says, clearly as frustrated with me as I am with her. “ _Move_ it.” We get to an exam room and she all but throws me onto the bed, looking me over.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I demand.

“Honey, _look_ at yourself!”

Lowering my eyes, I can see that I’m covered from head to toe in Cagney’s blood, and it makes my stomach turn. I rush over to the sink and lean over the basin, tossing my cooking completely before grabbing a paper towel and drying my mouth, wishing for some water. “Damn rival gangs,” I mutter, shaking my head and leaning up against the counter for support.

Normally, I would have partnered with one of the new recruits, Partridge or Barnes, but as the Sergeant of the Manhattan Homicide Unit, I know that as the second in command—temporarily, due to Jennings’s vacation—I have to step up, big time. As a result, Barnes and Partridge were on desk duty in the squad room, with Hunter taking calls in the office and looking after them. Why the hell didn’t I request for a backup detective?!

“Honey, you okay?” the nurse asks me.

I shake my head.

“Want something to eat?” she asks kindly. “I could get the kitchen to make you some pot roast or something...”

Immediately, I turn around and am sick again. I’d been out of undercover for seven months, and this was how it was. Certain foods set me off; due to being in the operation, I’d had to allow Edward, or whatever his name was, to force feed me. I remembered every Sunday, clear as day, it would be a gristly pot roast, cut into barely bite-sized pieces, shoved down my throat. Knees weak, I was barely holding myself up as the nurse looked me over.

“I’m going to order a shower for you,” she says, shaking her head. “And then we’re going to do a thorough exam...”

“Do whatever you want,” I say, shaking my head. “Just please let me have a glass of water...”

. . .

33 HOURS AGO

“Holbrook, I need you to do surveillance on a Sunday school,” Hunter says, all-business, putting the paperwork down on my desk.

“What do you got?” I ask; I am perched on the top of my desk in the squad room on a bright and cheery weekday morning; Jennings didn’t really like me sitting on top of my desk, but since it was Hunter in charge, it was ignored. “File folders, how cheery,” I say, giving him a sideways smile when Jo and Nate aren’t looking at us, and leaving Wilbur to shake his head.

“Yeah, check it,” he said in mock-impatience.

I rolled my eyes and looked over the paperwork. “Father Paul Frederickson... Where have I heard that name before...?”

“He opened that soup kitchen exclusively for children in Harlem,” Wilbur says, typing in something on his computer. “Here it is.”

I hop off the desk and go over to join him, peering at his computer screen. “Wow that looks nice, except...” I trail off as I look at all the pictures. “Lieutenant, all of the pictures are boys...”

“What’s the harm in helping boys?” Jo asks, coming to stand next to me; she has wavy red hair which she keeps flowing down her back and deep green eyes and ever-present red lipstick. “Oh, there’s the harm. Lieutenant, you’re going to want to see this,” she says, and places her hands on her hips, causing her chest—larger than mine—to jut out ever so slightly.

 _Bitch_ , I think to myself. _You’d best watch your step_...

“Let’s see,” Hunter says, playfully slapping my ass when he knows nobody will see him do so, caressing it in the same movement before withdrawing his hand and merely standing next to me, looking at Wilbur’s monitor. “Something just doesn’t seem right about these photographs...”

“Oh, no...”

“Barnes? What is it?” I ask, looking over at Nate, and when his green eyes lock with mine, I know it is something bad. “Barnes?” I ask again, going to stand next to him again as he bows his black-haired head.

“My buddy in computer crimes and I used to run facial recognition tests to search for missing children...”

“Okay,” I say.

“Well, I was able to install his program on our computers to pop up on websites featuring children...”

“Barnes, that’s amazing. Good work,” I tell him.

“Well, I told the computer to do it on the soup kitchen’s website—Paul’s Patriot’s for Hungry Kids...”

“Yeah?” I say, encouraging him.

“Look at this,” Nate says, pressing a button and indicating for me to look at the screen in front of me. The computer was able to zero-in on the provided faces on the site’s photos and soon, a text box formed with information. “There.”

“Oh, my god...”

“Yeah,” Barnes says.

“What is it?” Hunter asks, coming to get a good look while Jo and Wilbur look up at the three of us to get the verdict.

“Every single one of these children either are missing or turned up dead,” I say, shaking my head. “We’ve gotta crack this guy...”

. . .

30 HOURS AGO

“Back at work already, Maggie?” Olivia asks me as she enters the Homicide Unit squad room and embracing me. “Or is this merely a social call?”

I roll my eyes at her and lead her into Hunter’s office; he was out on a call with Cagney and I’d been given the run of the office for the next couple of hours. I’d had a small pizza ordered for each of us—extra tomatoes, mushrooms, and ground beef for Olivia; and chicken and feta for me. A Caesar salad was also placed upon Captain Jennings’ desk, as well as a can of Coke for Olivia and a can of apple juice for me; as we sat, I also placed a mud pie in front of her, her favorite dessert, while I would stick to my chocolate cake.

“I’m impressed,” Olivia said, nodding. “We can’t afford this much on our budget over at SVU...”

“Homicide didn’t provide lunch for you today, Liv. I did. Paid for out of my own pocket and gladly. This place is way better than some bodega crap I know you guys could be eating,” I joke, and Olivia rolls her eyes, taking the offered paper napkin and folding it into her lap.

“Well thank you, that’s very generous... You’re not proposing, are you?” she jokes back, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “Because I think I’m worth more than a soda and pizza...”

“Don’t forget salad and dessert,” I reply.

Olivia stops eating then and stares at me, shocked. “Wow...”

I sense her gaze upon me and raise my eyes to hers. “What?”

She shakes her head, stabbing the plastic fork into a bite of salad that she has expertly put upon her paper plate. “Nothing, it’s just... In this light, you reminded me of someone...”

“Who?” I ask.

“My mother, Serena,” she replies, waving it away. “Let’s talk about something else, please...”

“No problem,” I reply, even though she had had brought it up, but I knew from Fin that Serena, an abusive alcoholic, had fallen down some stairs after a late night of drinking. “What shall we discuss?”

“How about why you brought me here, and bribed me with lunch?” she says, a glint in her eye to let me know that I’m not in trouble. “Everything okay with Edythe and Hunter?”

I nod. “Yeah. We’ve been granted temporary custody pending the hearing which should happen in the next few weeks.”

“That’s great,” Olivia replies, putting a bite of salad in her mouth and chewing on it thoughtfully. After swallowing, she asked, “So, what else is new?”

I sighed. “Homicide needs SVU’s help,” I say quietly.

Olivia straightens in her seat and leans towards me. “Sounds serious. Is everything okay?”

I sigh. “Well, I think Fin can help as well. He was so great with me undercover and we want at least two of your guys on this, if Cragen can spare you.”

Olivia smiles at me. “Maggie, Cragen adores you. His own kids never give him the time of day; I know he sees you as a daughter.”

“That’s very comforting,” I reply. “He’s been more fatherly than my own father ever was with me growing up,” I say, leaning back in Captain Jennings’s chair. “I mean, hell, the only support he ever showed me was when I saw I was enrolling in police academy after turning down Julliard...”

“You serious?” Olivia asks. “I knew you were into acting but I had no idea you turned down such a prodigious school in order to join the force...”

I shrug, smiling. “Hey, ever since that day a million years ago when I met you in that ambulance, I knew I was destined for New York’s Finest.”

“It was six years,” Olivia says, shaking her head. “I hardly call that a million.” She lets the words hang in a balance for a while before leaning forward again. “So, what do you need Fin and me to do?”

“We’ve just received a complaint from a parent of the Sunday school of a Father Paul Frederickson, out of a Catholic church in Manhattan called St. Marks. Father Paul is the head of the church and runs a special Sunday school class right after his sermon...”

“...while the parents are conveniently occupied,” Olivia says, shaking her head. “I just don’t understand why SVU wasn’t handed this...”

“Which is why we need you to work with us. I’ll explain,” I say quickly. “One of our new guys, Nate Barnes, had a buddy when he was in Computer Crimes that installed this software which allows the computer to zero in on anyone in pictures on any particular webpage to search for missing people.”

“And you found some, which makes them Special Victims and it should be handed over to us...”

I shake my head. “Liv, that’s not all.” I sigh, biting my lower lip and doing my damnedest to keep calm. “It seems as though some of these children are presumed dead. The complaining mother said that there was a smell coming from the loft when she went up there to play the organ and gather some bibles. It was her new job and she’d never done it before.”

“Okay,” Olivia says. “Then what happened?”

“The woman is called Anna and she spoke with the elderly woman, Maria, who used to hold that position. Of course, Maria’s mind is going and she’s nearly lost all of her sense of smell, so it seemed like a dead end. But I’m convinced that since some of the children on the priest’s website have been found missing...”

“What website?” Olivia asks.

“Right,” I say, opening Hunter’s laptop and quickly logging in to the website. “Got it,” I say, moving the computer so as Olivia and I can look at the screen at the same time. “I watched when Barnes put in this particular code,” I say, typing in the set of numbers before the system kick started and zeroed-in on the children’s faces. “As you can see, a number of them are missing or dead...”

“Which constitutes the Homicide of a Special Victim,” Olivia replies. “Okay. You call Cragen, get him to sign off on this and I’ll get Fin,” she says, getting to her feet and walking towards our interrogation room in order to have some potential privacy when she speaks to him. “We’re going to get this sick son of a bitch, Maggie, don’t worry...”

“Hey, Liv?”

“Yeah?” she asks, turning around.

“Listen, I’m sorry...”

“Sorry for pulling me away from the office?”

“What?” I ask, confused.

Olivia chuckles. “Believe me, it’s fine. I like a change of scenery now and again, really...”

“No, I mean...” I sigh. “I mean about me not asking you to contact Elliot. I know he’s your partner and your best friend, but...”

She holds up a hand. “Hey, don’t do that. It’s fine. Fin and I work well together anyhow. Keep your head up. I’m just going to step in here to call him...”

“But I need to call Cragen...?”

Olivia laughs. “Call to say ‘hello’. You know he’s going to say ‘yes’ to you,” she throws over her shoulder before going into the other room to make the call.

. . .

24 HOURS AGO

“What do we got?” Fin asks, coming into the Homicide Unit squad room; it is close to dinner hour and we’ve already sent Partridge and Barnes home for the night while Hunter, Cagney, Olivia, and I attempt to sift through the heavy case load.

“Not like you to be late to the party, Fin,” Olivia says, chuckling a little. “What kept you? Did Cragen change his mind?”

“Nah,” Fin replies. “My son was having an issue that needed to be taken care of, nothing major.” He turns a little and looks at me for the first time, smiling at me and coming over. “How you doin’, Maggie?” he asks, pulling me into a hug. “We haven’t seen each other much since things went down,” he says, letting me go to get a good look at me. “You look good.”

“Thanks. I feel good, generally,” I reply, suddenly feeling hot on my neck and I immediately put up my hair. “Let me break down this case for you.”

“Tell me,” Fin says, clapping Hunter on the back and shaking hands with Cagney before hopping onto Jo Partridge’s desk and getting a good look at our flat screen system, where we’ve put up the information we have on the website and the potentially missing or dead boys.

“Cagney, maybe you’d better explain the particulars of the program your friend in Computer Crimes came up with,” I tell him, nodding in encouragement to let him know that I believed he’d be able to explain it better than I would. I leaned up against Nate Barnes desk, wrapping my fingers around its wooden edges as Cagney explained the particulars to Fin about the program. I suddenly felt faint and in desperate need of some energy, and crossed over to the snack machine we had in the squad room and bought a chocolate bar before returning to my post, savoring the sweet sensation of it mingling with my taste buds.

“So, as you can see, Fin, it is both a controversial and useful method of tracking down missing or exploited children,” Cagney says persuasively, and I immediately wonder if there was anything romantic between Cagney and this mystery person, despite his relationship with Wilkes.

“Or dead,” Fin says, in all seriousness, and Hunter looks between Olivia and I as we both inhale sharply through our teeth. “What do we know about this guy?” he asks, picking up the file folder and taking a look at Father Paul’s information that we’ve managed to collect. “Father Paul Frederickson... White bread name like that, he probably thinks he’s beyond suspicion,” he remarks, looking over the thin file of paperwork we actually have on him. “No priors or anything like that...”

“Graduated seminary in the 1980’s,” Olivia says, from what she managed to glean from the internet’s information. “Nothing untoward seemed to happen during his time there...”

“However, he didn’t manage to get his job until the mid-1990’s,” I continue. “I read on his biography that he was a deacon for a good decade before he actually made the leap to priest.”

“Why?” Fin asks. “Usually when it comes to degrees, people’ll be more willing to give you a job...”

“Something tells me that your priest is a perfectionist,” says a voice from the doorway and, turning, I’m surprised to see Dr. George Huang standing there, who I’d not really spoken to since before my accident.

“George!” I cry, surprised.

He smiles and steps forward, embracing me before he does so to Hunter and Olivia, whereupon he shakes Fin’s hand and claps him on the shoulder, before shaking Cagney’s hand. “Liv called me in just after she called Fin. Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner—big case,” he explains. “Maggie, Hunter, I haven’t seen you since your last promotions. You’re looking well.”

“Thank you,” Hunter and I say together.

“Now, what about this ‘perfectionist’ thing?” I ask, confused.

“Look at the facts,” George says, nodding to the file folder. “Liv filled me in on what she knew, and combined with the information I managed to find on the internet, I was able to draw what I think is an acceptable conclusion,” he says, leaning back against Barnes’ desk across from Fin. “Apparently, Paul Frederickson isn’t even our guy’s real name—it’s Aaron Lucas. He’s actually from the Georgia-Tennessee-Alabama area...”

“The Bible Belt,” Olivia says.

“Exactly,” George replies. “According to him, since he came from the Bible Belt during the middle of the twentieth century, the church was a logical occupation for him to be interested in taking up. I read that he seemed to ‘find God’, if you can actually call what he did that, at some point during his second year of high school, whereupon he graduated at only sixteen, much to the surprise of all his peers around him. He suddenly managed to pull his grades up and succeeded into getting into the Duke Divinity School.”

“That’s in the top twenty seminary schools in the United States,” Hunter says, apparently shocked.

“True,” George says. “Once there, he managed to take nearly all the classes that the seminary had to offer. However, due to his commitment to school and potential outside activities, he was unable to get perfect grades in every class. Due to his lack of sleep and devotion to outside activities—and I’ll get to those in a moment —the situation collimated into him brutally beating a teacher.”

“Nice,” Olivia says.

George chuckles. “He was actually able to beat the system by crying rape, although the teacher was a man,” he goes on. “Although there was evidence of a sexual relationship between the two, it seems to be more one-sided than not, although my findings were that their encounters were initially consensual...”

“They were consensual because he was gay, but the teacher wasn’t in the correct age group for him,” I say softly. “He was a pedophile.”

“Exactly,” George says. “But he was believed enough because there had been other complaints against this particular professor, who was subsequently fired from his job. Aaron Lucas then managed to get a cash settlement of two million, whereupon he changed his name and moved to New York. Here, he felt freer, as evidenced by his ability to come out of his shell; however, his quick move from one church to the next began to look suspicious, so he changed his outlook on life. He shaved his head and claimed to live as a monk, and that got him noticed. At his current church he was moved from a part-time deacon position to their priest. He gained attention by opening the soup kitchen for children after apparently coming into some family fortune, but that in itself is suspicious...”

“Why?” Fin asks.

“Ashamed of where he’d come from, Aaron Lucas created Paul Frederickson in an effort to effectively erase his family from the world’s prying eyes. He claimed that Paul Frederickson had no family, and everyone believed him. He then filed a motion to become a foster parent, and passed every exam there was, although his answers seem to be plagiarized from a textbook...”

“They probably were,” Olivia mutters.

“He would choose which boys he liked at the soup kitchen and within the church based on what he knew about them—abusive or neglectful or absent father; perhaps both parents were dead—in either case, he didn’t want them to have his particular foundation to build on when it comes to having an appropriate male influence in your life,” George explains. “He used their vulnerabilities to get to them and, therefore, if they ever protested his wandering hands, he’d have their lack of experience with male authority in their lives to fall back on. If the kids didn’t know the difference between right and wrong when it came to father figures, they wouldn’t be able to tell him to stop, that he was making them uncomfortable, due to their apparent lack of knowledge on the subject.”

“He preys on the inexperienced mindset of troubled children,” I say, shaking my head at the very thought of it. “Could this be based on what he himself could have experienced as a child? Did he have an absent father?”

“Surprisingly, no,” George replies easily. “According to all the information I managed to put together on Aaron Lucas to create a profile, I found that he had not one but both parents in his life—happily married as well. Matthew and Clare Lucas who were a doctor and a schoolteacher respectively. Aaron also had three sisters, Mary, Eve, and Ruth, so they certainly cared about the Bible in their household, given the names. However, what I don’t understand is Aaron’s so-called normal childhood life before high school, when religion suddenly came into play. I wonder if there was something I missed...”

“Could he have been hiding his sexuality?” Fin asks. “Could he have merely used religion as a front so as his parents couldn’t have known that he was gay and had a particular affection for children?”

“You’ll remember, Fin, that sexual attraction towards children is not about being gay or not, but it’s the power that the pedophile feeds off of,” George tells us. “In many cases, pedophiles have wives and children but still find time to accomplish their forbidden lusts on the side. So many religious officials attempt to blame the homosexual community for being pedophiles in order to keep their children ‘safe’, when, in reality, it could be a straight individual who just so happens to possess these sexual feelings for children.”

“That’s messed up,” Fin says, tossing the file and getting to his feet, marching towards the exit of the squad room, punching the wall as he goes.

Despite Olivia’s non-verbal warning, I take off after Fin, who has gone into an old file clerk’s office that we haven’t had the budget to renovate into a new staff room by knocking down the back wall. “Fin...” I open the door all the way and slip inside, coming to stand next to him as he looks down at the dark city below. “You okay? Did something that George said...?”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head.

“Fin?” I ask. “I’m sorry... I don’t understand....”

He sighs. “You wouldn’t,” he replies, not unkindly, “because I don’t like to talk about my son...”

I nod. “I know. But you seem so upset.” I gently take him by the shoulder and turn him so as he’s looking straight at me. “Fin, you were like a father to me when we were undercover. Now, come on. If you’re half as good a father figure to me as you are a real father to Ken, then you’re probably a damn good father that Ken deserved wholeheartedly.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “When Teresa, my ex and I, split, she got custody of Ken and he refused to see me for a long time. I called him Kwasi, but he changed it to ‘Ken’ and took his mother’s maiden name, ‘Randall’. I only saw him for the first time since he was a kid after Liv and I were partnered on assignment at a bodega, where I got shot...”

“And Liv found him for you,” I reply, remembering the story.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Fin affirms. “But it wasn’t for another few months that the two of us really got back on track. It was about a year later, give or take, that I found out that my son was gay.”

I raise my eyebrows ever so slightly. “Oh...”

“What?”

I shrug. “Nothing. It’s just...” I sigh. “Fin, you’ve made your feelings of being a Republican known...”

“Hey, and you’re a Democrat, Maggie, and I respect that, really, that’s your right, I swear. But why the hesitation?”

“I just... I know it’s only been a couple of years, Fin, but I know you. I _know_ you. I brought you in on this case because of your passionate love for children and your excellent work ethic. But I sense that you had an issue when George began talking about homosexuality. Did something set you off?”

Fin sighs. “I love my son, Maggie, no matter what. Yeah, I had to address it—his being gay—but it didn’t mean I was unsupportive.”

I find myself raising an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I was angry, yeah, but not at Ken’s being gay. I was mad at myself because of the fact that I was undercover for so much of his childhood that he never really knew me. I was so dedicated to the job that I missed the great opportunity to watch my son grow up. And, because of that, Ken never felt like he could come out to me.” Fin leans up against the wall; his arms are crossed as he lowers his eyes and shakes his head. “You know, it’s funny... I actually found out that Ken was gay because of a case...”

I feel myself snap my neck backward ever so slightly as I raise my eyebrows. “A case?” I ask. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Fin says. “We were investigating a nightclub that catered to people who are gay and Ken’s name showed up on their electronic roster. I went over to his apartment and confronted him on it, but he had...company...”

“A guy?” I guessed.

“Yeah. He mistook me ‘not being okay with it’ by me being prejudicial, and maybe I was, for a moment, I’ll admit that. But, Maggie, I’m not, really. I love my son, and if he’s happy, I’m happy.”

I smile at him. “Fin, we all of us support you. You know that, don’t you?”

Fin chuckles a bit and raises his eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

“Good,” I reply. “You ready to take this pedophile down?”

Fin nods. “Yeah. Anytime,” he replies, and I grab his hand and put it over my shoulder in a friendly sort of way as we leave the filing clerk’s office. “You know, it’s funny...”

“What?” I ask as we go down the hall.

“Your way of bringing people around...”

I stop walking and turn to look at Fin. “What about it?”

He laughs again, moving out from over me as he drifts back towards the squad room. “You’re a lot like Liv,” he says as he enters the room ahead of me.

. . .

18 HOURS AGO

“Hunter, it’s after midnight,” I say softly.

“Hey, we got the babysitter for a good chunk of time,” Hunter replies patiently as we go over the paperwork in his office. “Besides, remember Maggie, she’s a live-in nanny. We pay her to live there and work to ensure that Edythe is safe, warm, and fed appropriately...”

“Leona is great at her job and came highly recommended, I know that,” I say, setting down my pen on my notes of the Frederickson case to rub my temples. “I just don’t want her to think we’re taking advantage of her...”

“I know, Maggie. But we became cops before we became parents...”

“But we’re parents _first_ , Hunter,” I reply, struggling to keep my temper with him despite the fact that I was going on nearly a day without sleep. “What’s going to happen when we adopt Edythe, hmmm? Are we just going to work for all hours and never see her?”

Hunter sighs, setting down his pen and looking up at me. “Maggie, please. You know I wouldn’t do that...”

“Do I?” I ask. “This time a year ago, you hated me. Now we’re suddenly living together and in the process of adopting a child together...”

“And?” Hunter asks, clearly growing impatient with me.

“And you’ve never even told me that you love me!” I shout, almost as if it is the end of the world as I get to my feet and throw my pen down, hard upon the desk that we’re sharing.

“Maggie...”

“I brought coffee,” says Jo, who was uninvited, yet looking sharp, well-rested, and in her red pantsuit. “Cagney’s taking a nap but he called me in in case you needed an extra pair of hands on this case.” Jo’s body is positioned so as she’s completely facing Hunter, almost as if I’m not there at all. “I thought you’d like this,” Jo says to Hunter then, leaning over the desk and exposing the tops of her breasts in her low-cut top she’s wearing beneath her suit jacket. “It’s your favorite—Americano with two extra shots of espresso,” she says, deliberately saying the words in a husky manner to let him know that office sex was completely all right with her under any circumstances. “Here,” she says, placing it down next to his paperwork and putting her hand upon his shoulder. “So, what do we got?” she asks him then, continuing to ignore me, and bending forward to look at the paperwork.

I turn and walk out of the office and, much to my mortification, Hunter remains in there with Jo. Shaking my head at the scene, I walk outside to find Fin coming back from his nap upstairs. I tell him that I want to go to stake out the scene but that I want Cagney.

I don’t know what possessed me to do it.

I don’t know what possessed me to go to a scene with Cagney and not Fin or Olivia, at least.

I don’t know what possessed me to go to a scene without the whole story or on total lack of sleep.

I don’t know what possessed me to leave my badge in plain sight in the squad room.

I think that’s why things went down like they did.

I think that’s why I almost lost my life again.

. . .

1 HOUR AGO

“The new information from George confirms it,” I tell Cagney from where we’re sitting in the back of a police van. “The new information clearly states that our guy, Aaron Lucas, is part of a pedophile ring,” I tell him softly. “Our lookout has managed to get into the bell tower and confirm that there were dead bodies on one side of the wall, and nearly starving boys on the second side. We have to ambush them, Cagney, it’s the only way.”

“It’s reckless and dangerous without backup, sergeant,” Cagney replies.

 _I don’t give a fuck_ , I think, initially, but reply, “I know. But it’s the only way to do this, Cagney. I’ll take the heat for this. You won’t go down for it, for any of it, that I can promise you.”

Finally, Cagney nods. “Whatever you say, sergeant,” he replies.

We burst in upon what appears to be a satanic ritual, complete with the star etched into the hundred-year-old wood floor and look at the bewildered children sitting by themselves, looking hungry. All boys, they look as if we’re just as demonic as the man or men who took them, and that is why Cagney and I didn’t see them coming from every direction. Soon, we were surrounded, and shots flew out from every direction everywhere, and Cagney and I covered the boys. Turning over as he shielded the boys from the bullets, I open-fired on the gangs that came swarming in from all sides. I knew from the colors that they wore that each belonged to a rival gang of pedophiles in the Greater Manhattan neighborhood, and soon, with most unconscious or dead around me, I turned to get a good look at my partner on the scene that night.

“Cagney?” I asked, shaking him. Upon looking more closely, I noticed the three bullet holes imbedded deep into his back. “No...” I whispered, making a grab for my walkie, calling it in. “Manhattan Homicide to Central, this is Sergeant Maggie Holbrook, Badge Number 5147,” I say breathlessly. “10-13, Officer down! I need a bus,” I say, quickly giving the address of the church that we lay in, with many gang members around me. “Be advised that not everyone around me is deceased and there are children on the premises...”

“Copy that, Sergeant,” the voice replies.

And then, a swirl of activity around me as the rest of the police arrive, including a SWAT team who manage to get the gang members—including Aaron Lucas—out of the church. After EMT’s take custody of Cagney, I quickly show the SWAT team where the children are, as well as the bodies of those that didn’t make it, in the bell tower. Children are hurried from the premises as I quickly run outside and hop into the ambulance with Cagney. Looking out the window, I can see Olivia looking worried; Fin looking concerned; Hunter looking angry; and Jo looking nothing but smug.

When we arrive at the hospital, we all dash out into the cold September night and soon we dash towards the main doors.

“We have a shot detective, clear the way!” scream the EMT’s as I rush after them into the hospital, St. Vincent’s, in the heart of Manhattan.

I rush after them, not even bothering to see if I’m allowed in the particular area; I haven’t slept in over twelve hours due to me patrolling the area with Cagney, as Captain Jennings is out of town and Hunter had to take over the unit temporarily. I felt very drained, knowing that this shootout was on me. I was finally cut-off from my run towards the stretcher by a nurse.

“Honey, you can’t go back there...”

“Detective Cagney is my partner, ma’am...”

“Miss—”

“It’s _Sergeant_ Maggie Holbrook,” I say, waving my superiority in her face, wholly impatient with her impeding my work. “Now, I have to check out my partner to make sure he’s okay.”

“Well, _Sergeant_ , that’s not your call. You can go and see him when they say you can go and see him.”

I glare at her. “Fine,” I say, moving to go to the waiting room.

“Whoa, honey,” the nurse says, grabbing me and leading me down another hallway, “I can’t let you go in there either.”

“Excuse me?!” I demand. “Get your hands off me! I am a law enforcement officer, and I command you to let me go!”

The nurse jerks me along behind her. “And I’m Cleopatra,” she says, clearly as frustrated with me as I am with her. “ _Move_ it.” We get to an exam room and she all but throws me onto the bed, looking me over.

“What the hell are you doing?!” I demand.

“Honey, _look_ at yourself!”

Lowering my eyes, I can see that I’m covered from head to toe in Cagney’s blood, and it makes my stomach turn. I rush over to the sink and lean over the basin, tossing my cooking completely before grabbing a paper towel and drying my mouth, wishing for some water. “Damn rival gangs,” I mutter, shaking my head and leaning up against the counter for support.

Normally, I would have partnered with one of the new recruits, Partridge or Barnes, but as the Sergeant of the Manhattan Homicide Unit, I know that as the second in command—temporarily, due to Jennings’s vacation—I have to step up, big time. As a result, Barnes and Partridge were on desk duty in the squad room, with Hunter taking calls in the office and looking after them. Why the hell didn’t I request for a back-up detective?!

“Honey, you okay?” the nurse asks me.

I shake my head.

“Want something to eat?” she asks kindly. “I could get the kitchen to make you some pot roast or something...”

Immediately, I turn around and am sick again. I’d been out of undercover for seven months, and this was how it was. Certain foods set me off; due to being in the operation, I’d had to allow Edward, or whatever his name was, to force feed me. I remembered every Sunday, clear as day, it would be a gristly pot roast, cut into barely bite-sized pieces, shoved down my throat. Knees weak, I was barely holding myself up as the nurse looked me over.

“I’m going to order a shower for you,” she says, shaking her head. “And then we’re going to do a thorough exam...”

“Do whatever you want,” I say, shaking my head. “Just please let me have a glass of water...”

. . .

THE PRESENT

After I came to, I was lying in a hospital bed again, and I want to smack myself for the umpteenth time at that very fact. Shaking my head, I am shocked when the door opens and Hunter stands there, looking stone-faced at me. I resolve to make my face cold and succeed, wondering what my punishment will be.

 _Demotion_ , my mind immediately tells me, _if you’re not fired outright for your careless behavior_...

“Hello, Hunter,” I say coldly, looking down at my hands. Examining my arms then, I can see clearly that some of the bullets themselves from the shootout have managed to ricochet off of my arms and that their lightly bandaged. _Adrenaline at its finest_ , I think to myself. _I wasn’t even aware of the pain I’d been in_...

“I’d just like to impress upon you how stupid and dangerous that feat you accomplished was this evening,” Hunter tells me levelly, crossing the room and gripping the foot of my bed.

I feel my eyebrows coming together as I raise my eyes to his. “Is this the point where you tell me that you’re using reverse psychology and that you’re going to have me fired?” I ask him then, a lump in my throat.

Hunter gives me a hard smile. “No. You’re not being fired.”

“Demoted, then, I take it?” I ask, sighing a little. “I’ll become Detective Holbrook again and Jo can take the coveted position at your side?”

“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not true, Maggie,” Hunter tells me. “I could take a freaking polygraph and it wouldn’t be true.”

“What wouldn’t be true?”

“Oh, for god’s sake, Maggie... Jo is just a crafty woman who wants to get ahead in the office and in life. She’s not you.”

“What’s so special about me?” I ask him softly. “She’s got more brains than I do, she’s quicker on her feet, she’s prettier, her breasts are...”

“Immaculate, to be sure, but I’d pay to see yours any given day of the week, and I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about hers.”

I force myself not to smile. “Oh, really?”

He leans forward and takes my hand, running his index fingers over my knuckles ever so slightly, causing me to shudder. “I was not raised to be romantic, Maggie; I was raised to have courage and to be brave...”

I raise my eyes to his. “You’ve succeeded in both, Hunter.”

“Yes, I may have, but in the process, I hurt you.” He sighs, leaning forward and pressing his forehead against mine. “I’m going to say something I should have said months ago. I love you, Margaret Holbrook. Always will.”

I fight to make sure my eyes don’t well up with tears. “I love you, too, Hunter,” I say, allowing him to brush my lips with his.

The door opens a second time and a nurse stands there. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant Grayson, but as you’re not family or a relative, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the room.”

“He’s my domestic partner...”

“The paperwork hasn’t been files with the county clerk yet, I’m afraid, Sergeant Holbrook,” the nurse replies. “He needs to step out.”

“I’ll be just outside, Maggie,” Hunter assures me with another quick kiss before getting to his feet, crossing the room, and shutting the door behind him.

“Okay,” I say. “Now that you’ve taken my love away from me, how can I help you?!” I demand, in a much sharper tone than I intended.

“Oh, anger,” the nurse says, shaking her head as she looks over my chart. “ _That’s_ something I’ve never seen before,” she says sarcastically.

“What?” I ask, confused.

The nurse raises her eyes to mine. “Sergeant Holbrook, were you aware that you are four months pregnant?” she asks me.

I feel as if something has shifted inside me.

I cannot think.

I cannot see.

I cannot speak.

Until...

“I need... I need Detective Olivia Benson,” I say, my eyes filling with tears as my hands start shaking. “Please... Please get me her now!” I scream, frightening the nurse so much that she runs from the room.


	7. Make You Believe

Olivia runs into the room, shock etched into her face as she looks at me for the first time; I’ve successfully managed to crawl to the head of my bed, and I’m gripping its flimsy, plastic frame in fear. Shaking, I feel hot tears coming down my face as Olivia assesses the situation and mutely comes towards me, easing me back into the bed and underneath the covers. Covering me up to the middle of my chest, she sits calmly beside me and takes my hand.

“Everyone’s worried about you,” she tells me softly. “The screams could be heard all the way from the waiting room—it’s a wonder they didn’t tranquilize you,” she jokes, and I manage to chuckle nervously. “I sent Hunter to get some coffee and suggested we have a little time to ourselves—girl time.” She cocks her head to one side then, studying me. “You look pale and exhausted... You’re sweating!” she cries out, dropping my hand in shock. “Clammy... I should get the nurse or a doctor back in here, Maggie. You’re clearly not well...”

“Liv, please,” I say quietly. “I’m not sick... Just sick with worry, I mean...”

“What?” she asks, curious.

I feel a sigh escape from between my lips as I roll my shoulders; she adjusts my pillows for me without being asked and I lean up against them, grateful. “The nurse just told me that... Well, I assume they checked my blood work to make sure that I’m okay...”

“Did they find something?” Olivia asks. “Are you all right?”

I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just a shock, is all.”

“We’re not losing you, are we?” she wants to know. “Homicide needs you, you know, Maggie...”

I smile. “No. The department isn’t losing me—not now, that the very least.” I lean back against the pillows completely, my neck coming out of its stiffening position and I’m able to relax ever so slightly. “The doctors have just confirmed that I’m four months pregnant...”

Olivia’s dark eyes widen then as she looks me over. “Oh. Well, you’re not even showing... I mean, I would’ve never guessed...”

I shake my head. “I wouldn’t have either. I didn’t know...”

“Is there an issue?” Olivia asks. “Were you not there yet?”

I shake my head again. “Not even close. I mean, I _want_ children, believe me, Olivia, but...”

“But what?”

I sigh. “I was adopted—you know this. Part of me feels like I’m obligated to keep this child because I don’t want to seem ungrateful...”

“Would you ever seek out your birth parents?” she wants to know.

“I mean, I really want to but then a new case comes up or a new development with Hunter or something comes up with Edythe...”

“What about your family?” Olivia asks. “Aren’t they helpful and supportive when it comes to things like that?”

“Each are from old wealthy Catholic families, and everything was so strict growing up. I wasn’t allowed to discuss my rape with anyone—I got counselling, but it was with a woman who was Catholic as well. I had to practically beg my parents to let me study acting, as it was my only vice that I was allowed, that performance high, you know. When I said I wanted to be a cop, my dad was all for it—public servants are highly regarded in my family—but my mother was against it from the get-go. I remember her sobbing her head off after I broke the news to them; initially, I believed that she would miss me, because I was so up-front about moving out here when the time was right. But no, that’s not what it was; she was afraid at how she and Dad would look to other people...”

“Did she tell you what she thought?” Olivia wants to know.

I nod. “Oh, yeah, and then some...”

“Which was what?”

I sigh. “She was afraid that people would think that I was a lesbian, based solely upon my chosen line of work. I laughed in her face! I’d had boyfriends in high school, she knew that, but she was convinced that this was a blanketed way of me coming out to them. And then when I got involved with Elliot, all she could see was that not only was I having premarital sex, but I was coveting another woman’s husband. What she neglected to tell me for years was something my older sister Stella and I talked about during our high school and college years—the fact that our mother was a hypocrite. Our father was engaged to another heiress at the time he met my mother and she hated this particular woman so she vowed to steal our dad away from her. She did...”

“I’m so sorry you had to deal with all of this negativity,” Olivia replies. “Just know that you have a support system in place here...”

I look up at her and smile. “I think of it as having a New York family, and Cragen as the patriarch. You’re like a mother to me, Olivia, while Cragen and Fin are like surrogate fathers. I couldn’t ask for a better family unit...”

Olivia smiles and takes my hand. “Ever think you’ll join SVU?”

“Ever think you’ll run it?” I ask her.

She grins. “I don’t know about that. I think if Cragen left, at this point, it would go to Munch because he has seniority. Then Elliot because everyone wants to see a man doing the main job...”

“And Fin?” I want to know. “You have seniority over him...”

Olivia nods. “I do. But I think if I ever became ‘in-charge’, I’d want Elliot or Fin as my second; John was promoted first so I couldn’t be in charge unless he left SVU for some reason. Fin and Elliot are great guys and a good cops—you need to have both in order to get the case done right. Man or woman first, Maggie, and then cop. Never cop before man or woman—that’s what lands cops in hot water with their work. Remember that.”

I nod. “I’ll remember,” I reply.

. . . 

I am cleared early the following day, and decide to go home for a quick shower, to change clothes, and to say hello to Edythe before going into the office. I find that I want to become lost in my work; I need a distraction right now, desperately. When I arrive back to the penthouse by cab, I nod to Stanley and head inside, unlocking the door quickly and see Edythe in the breakfast nook in the kitchen, her nanny, Helena—a kindly young British woman—setting her to rights before escorting her to school that morning.

Hunter and I had gotten Edythe accepted into The Trinity School, a private school which served kindergarten through the twelfth grade. As a fifth-grader, she had adjusted quickly, favoring English and Geography above all things. She was an avid reader, and had quickly delved through all through the _Harry Potter_ books since coming to live with us. As the adoption date grew nearer—it was set for the first week of January—she slowly had become more and more confident and well-adjusted to the arrangement of being independent; she adored Helena, to be sure, and Hunter and I knew that she wanted more time with the two of us, and we’d vowed to take her on vacation the following summer. However, by that time, we’d have the baby, and I knew that, perhaps, the plans might change.

“Mama!” Edythe cried as I stepped into the foyer; she got to her feet, Helena chuckling indulgently, as Edythe ran towards me, arms outstretched.

I chuckled despite my exhaustion and shut the door behind me, locking it before getting down on one knee and embracing her. “Hello, princess,” I say, kissing her on the cheek and pulling back to look at her. “How’s your morning been? What are you having for breakfast?”

“Eggs on toast,” Edythe tells me proudly. “Helena makes them really well—it’s always delicious.”

I nod. “That’s good, I’m glad.”

“Are you going to play with me today?” she asks.

I smile at her. “Well, I actually have to get cleaned up and go into the office... How much longer before school?”

“Half an hour,” she replies.

I nod. “Okay. If I get ready quickly, I can hop in the cab with you to school this morning and drop you off. Helena can have some time off...”

“Oh, no, Miss Maggie,” she says, quickly smiling. “I can get some house work done in the meantime, and go to the market. Don’t worry, I have plenty to do, Miss Maggie, never fear. The food budget...” She trails off, and I nod quickly, fishing my wallet out of my pocket.

“This should cover a few things,” I say politely to her, handing over a fifty and two twenties before turning back to Edythe. “Mama has to get showered and get on a new work outfit. You finish your breakfast, okay, sweetie?”

“Yes, Mama,” Edythe replies, skipping over to the breakfast nook.

“Can I make you anything, Miss Maggie?” Helena asks.

“Thank you, Helena. I’d love a cup of tea to perk me up,” I say. “I’ll just have an energy bar with that—got to get back to the office...”

“Of course, Miss Maggie,” Helena says as I nod at her before turning around and walking down the hall to the bedroom.

Hunter had rather sloppily made the bed that morning, and I rolled my eyes before grabbing a fresh towel from the linen cupboard and dashing into the master bedroom’s en suite bathroom. I quickly remove all my clothes, their blood stains barely visible now, and step into the hot shower. I quickly scrub my body and hair, although I know I have to be careful due to the healing wounds upon my hands from the bullet fragments. Stepping out of the shower only a few moments later, I towel myself off and then wrap myself in the piece of material, grabbing my hairbrush and using my blow-dryer upon my hair, so that it falls mid-way down my back; I’d decided to grow it over the summer, and found that I’d missed this longer length which I hadn’t had since my second year of high school.

Stepping into the bedroom again, I selected a bra and panty set before opening my cherry wood wardrobe and looking over my pant suits. With so many to choose from came an abundance of memories, including the black one I’d vowed to burn after ending things with Elliot, due to him peeling it off me so frequently. I ended up selecting an attractive green number, complete with a cream-colored camisole and my black dress shoes before fluffing my hair again.

Peering into my jewelry box, I looked at the no-nonsense jewelry I’d accumulated over the years—the pieces from my parents on various Christmases and birthdays that I’d just ‘had to have’; the one of two from Olivia that she’d seen in various shop windows; the one I had from Stella when I was her Maid of Honor; the one Jay-Jay gave me when I graduated from the police academy; the pearl necklace from Elliot which Kathy and some of their daughters had wanted but reportedly belonged to his mother; the several I’d gotten from Hunter in our considerable amount of time together; and then there was the one I’d gotten from Edythe on Mother’s Day. It was a lovely locket—it was a Tiffany’s, if I’d remembered correctly, which was bought and paid for with Hunter’s help. It was a heart-shape with curled letters on its front which aptly read _Mama_ and inside was a family portrait of all of us; on the other side, I’d added Edythe’s recent school photo and decided to wear that this morning. Hanging it from my neck, it swung like a pendulum ever so slightly before finally allowing itself to settle in place as I walked out of the bedroom and down the hall, pinning my badge to one of my belt loops and putting my nondescript black raincoat on.

“Come on, honey, we’ve got to hustle,” I say, making my way towards the breakfast nook; I kiss Edythe on the forehead and smile at Helena as she hands over my tea in a travel cup. “We can’t have you being late,” I say, delving into the cupboards and grabbing an energy bar. “Let’s move,” I tell her as she gathers up her backpack and proceeds putting her notebooks and pencil pouch inside. She then grabs her lunch box and gives Helena a hug goodbye as the kindly woman waves us off as we walk through the front door.

“We have a math quiz today,” Edythe tells me as we go into the elevator, pressing the correct button to Park Avenue.

“Have you been studying?” I ask her, nibbling at my energy bar and looking her over, making sure that she’s dressed properly in her uniform.

Edythe nods her raven head, quickly putting on her winter hat and gloves as the elevator dings and as we journey into the hallway. “Yeah. Helena helped me with the sums. That’s how the grown-ups say it—sums.”

“Just sums?” I ask, recalling how ‘sums’ was generally just a term for addition, and I wondered then if they’d put her into an easy program deliberately. “No long division or multiplication?”

Edythe laughs. “No, I meant the problems,” she says as we wave goodbye to Stanley and wave for a cab, which pulls up directly. “I think it’ll be okay. I think I’ll pass,” she says as I open the door and we slip inside.

“The Trinity School, please,” I say to the driver, “and then I’ll be going to the Manhattan Homicide Unit...”

“Your call, lady,” the driver says, pulling away from the sidewalk.

Edythe then proceeded to tell me more about her school; she’d only been back there for three and a half weeks, and already the main concern was Halloween and what she and the students had decided to dress up as. Her new teacher was called Mrs. Newsome and she seemed to be a nice enough, middle-aged woman in about her mid-forties. When we pull up at her school, I remind the cab driver to wait for me while I slip out among the throng of other mothers, fathers, nannies, and various other family members deemed qualified to drop their children off. I pull Edythe into my arms and kiss her before she darts to meet a pair of blonde twins she’s become friends with, Rosie and Daisy. I wave to their mother, Hyacinth, and still do my best not to laugh when I consider all the interesting things that must’ve gone through her parents’ minds when they named her.

I soon managed to slip back into the cab and gave the directions for the Homicide Unit and soon I was back in Upper Manhattan. I handed over my credit card after the duration of the drive and then it was handed back to me as I exited the vehicle and made my way inside the building. I was shocked to see almost everyone in my midst grinning at me, and words such as “Congratulations, Maggie,” and “Good job, Sergeant,” filled my ears as I made my way over to the elevators. I chose one at random and soon it opened before me and I stepped inside, pressing the correct button for the squad room.

Stepping off the elevator moments later, I made my way inside the squad room, and I am doubly shocked when the whole unit erupts into applause. Hunter is at my side in less than a moment and grabs me, swinging me around and kissing me for all to see. Naturally, my cheeks flamed with embarrassment at this public display of affection but I can see in Captain Jennings’s face that he approves of the relationship, although I see that Jo Partridge’s green eyes are, in that moment, pure green with envy at this display of affection. I greeted Barnes and then proceeded to look around for Cagney, even though I knew that he probably wouldn’t be back for some time, due to the extent of his injuries.

Jo and Barnes went out to get some subs for lunch about three hours later; I was buried in paperwork at my desk but Hunter and Captain Jennings managed to pull me away. I rolled my eyes playfully but was compliant, even allowing them to take me out for Chinese food which oddly sounded good right about then. I sat with Hunter with Captain Jennings looking at us, and he nodded in approval.

“You two look really good together,” he states.

I smile. “So, you’re really okay with this?” I ask.

“Hey, I don’t give a damn,” he replies. “Honestly, the two of you have remained professional in the office since day one. Well, with the exception of day one and this morning...”

“My fault,” Hunter says, a chuckle escaping from between his lips. “I caught her off guard, Captain. Won’t happen again.”

He sighs a little before looking at the menu briefly; presumably not finding what he is looking for, he lowers it and raises his eyes to mine. “Maggie, I should tell you that Cagney took a transfer.”

“Cagney?! No!” I cry out.

He nods. “I’m afraid so. Cagney’s decided to move to Hostage Negotiations. He feels it would be a challenge for him, and I commend him for that.”

I nod. “Well, he obviously knows what’s best for himself...”

“Exactly,” he replies, “which is why I have some news for the two of you...”

I raise my eyebrows. “What?”

He smiles at the two of us. “I’m retiring. In December, I’m officially stepping down as Commanding Officer of Manhattan Homicide. I’ve decided to formally hand over the department to Hunter, who is slated to take the Captain’s Exam in just a few weeks, and to you, Maggie. You can be second as Sergeant, but I’ve signed the appropriate documentation if you should decide to take the Lieutenant’s Exam, if you would like. The choice is yours.”

I gasp aloud, nearly choking on a stray ice cube in my water. “Lieutenant Maggie Holbrook?!” I cry. “You’re joking...”

Captain Jennings shakes his head. “No, I’m not joking. I’m going to make the official announcement at the Christmas celebrations.” He stretches out his hands and clasps both Hunter’s and my hands. “I know that I’m leaving the department in good hands. And I’ll still be around—I’m not giving up my apartment.”

“What are you going to do?” Hunter asks.

He grins. “Remember over the summer I mentioned that I’d been dating that sweet woman, Jennifer, since February?”

I nod. “Of course. I remember that picture you have of the two of you when you vacationed in Cabo last summer.”

“We were _working_ ,” he tells us firmly. “And, if I’m being honest, Jennifer is her undercover name—Jennifer Seymour.”

“Well, then what’s her real name?” Hunter asks.

“Esmeralda Martin,” he replies.

I feel my eyes pop as I raise my eyebrows. “As in Esmeralda Martin, Captain of the Manhattan Narcotics Unit?” I say, shocked.

“That’s the one,” Captain Jennings replies. “I’ve actually asked Esmerelda to marry me and she’s accepted. The two of us are getting married a week after our joint retirement party. Which the two of you, and Edythe, are to attend.”

“Esmerelda’s retiring, too?” Hunter wants to know.

“Yes, she’s handing the department over to Lieutenant Tatiana Webber, who is taking the Captain’s Exam in November.”

“Oh, Tati,” I say, nodding in fond remembrance. “Nice girl—met her at the Easter dinner function last April.”

“Where are you having the wedding?” Hunter asks.

“The Plaza,” Captain Jennings replies. “Esmeralda handled a drug bust there and in exchange for keeping it out of the papers, she got our wedding day there. We just managed to get The Grand Ballroom,” he says, chuckling.

“Well, we’re looking forward to it already,” I tell him.

“Did you spill the beans?” asks a familiar voice. Looking up, the three of us see Esmeralda in all her grandeur as she makes the epitome of a grand entrance, grinning her pearly whites at us as she steps closer. She gives waves to Hunter and me before sliding into Captain Jennings’s side of the booth and kissing him on the cheek. “I wanted to tell them _something_ ,” she says in a mock-pout.

Captain Jennings chuckles ever so slightly, indulgently clasping her hand in his, yet it is gentle, almost as if he wants to be careful with her. “Actually, Esmeralda has asked me if Edythe would be so kind as to be our Flower Girl.”

“I’m sure she’d be delighted,” I reply, turning to Esmerelda and smiling gratefully at her. “Edythe likes you very much.”

“Well, we enjoy her company, too,” Esmeralda replies. She was almost a dead ringer for Mila Kunis, except she was in her mid-thirties; she seemed so pleased to be in Captain Jennings’s presence, and would frequently dip her head ever so slightly to rest it upon his shoulder.

“Well, I did promise her a wonderful Christmas present, so this will have to be hers to us,” he says emphatically with a second chuckle.

“I’m having Tati as my Maid of Honor, as I don’t have any sisters and she’s been my partner since we joined Narcotics in the 1990’s, but I’m short a Bridesmaid or two, I’m afraid...” She bites her brown-gold lip, colored with lipstick. “I almost hate to ask, Maggie, but would you be one of my Bridesmaids?”

I blink, shocked. “I... Well, of course, Esmeralda,” I reply. “I’d love to.”

She grins. “Oh, thank you!” she says, leaning forward and clasping my hand very briefly yet sincerely. “I feel so relieved now...”

“And, Hunter, of course I’d like you to be my Best Man, if...”

“Say no more, Derrick, of course,” Hunter replies.

“I’ve also decided I’m going to have Diana as a Bridesmaid, as well as my other detectives Deena and Becca,” Esmeralda puts in. “I like to have a full wedding party,” she says with a small giggle.

“Full party, full life,” Captain Jennings replies, and Esmeralda gently slaps him upon his shoulder.

“We _weren’t_ going to say anything...”

“Say what?” Hunter asks.

“Are you two...?” I ask, finding myself raising my index finger and waving it between them ever so slightly.

Esmeralda sighs a little before giggling again. “Yeah. I’m pregnant.”

“Esmeralda, that’s amazing!” Hunter cries, climbing out of the booth and throwing his arms around her. “Well done, Papa Derrick,” he says, slapping the captain five as I make my way over to Esmerelda to hug her.

“Congratulations,” I whisper to her.

She turns ever so slightly and notices that Hunter and Derrick are talking about this and that and babies before turning back to me. “You know, you should tell Hunter that you’re expecting, too,” she says quietly.

Immediately, I want to pull back and demand how she knows the information, but I force myself to remain calm. “I’m sorry, I don’t...”

She smiles, and that stops my words. “Maggie, honestly. Any woman who’s pregnant can tell when another woman is pregnant.”

I sigh. “I wouldn’t know...”

She nods. “I understand.” She pauses. “When are you due?”

“February,” I reply. “Probably around Valentine’s Day... Hell of a present, if I’m being honest about it...”

She nods a second time. “Well, better tell him. Soon, you won’t be able to hide a thing like that,” she says softly before turning back to our men.

. . .

Hunter and the captain are called on a case so I’m left in charge of the squad for a few hours. I explain the situation when I return, and Barnes is compliant, while Partridge looks annoyed. We do some work for about two hours, and then I send out Barnes to get some air; he’d had a cold recently, and I knew that if he stretched a bit between cases, it would be better for him. I was going over some files in the office—where all ‘heads’ were permitted to be if the captain and lieutenant were out on case work—and was shocked when Jo knocked on the door. I told her to come in as I got to my feet, not allowing her to intimidate me.

“Did you want to go out and get some air when Barnes is back?” I ask. “If that’s the case, I’m very pleased you came to ask me.”

Jo sighs, shaking her head. “No. I wanted to have a word...”

I nod. “Of course. Why don’t you sit down?”

She sighs a second time. “Thanks.” She takes a seat opposite me as I perch on the edge of the captain’s desk, waiting for her to speak. “I just want you to know that your suspicions are only half correct.”

I blink. “Excuse me? I’m not following...”

She sighs. “Yes, I’m jealous of your relationship, but it’s not what you think, Maggie, really...”

I raise my eyebrows at the use of my first name; she used to call me ‘detective’ and then ‘sergeant’ when I got my promotion. On occasion, she’d called me ‘Margaret’ but that was only when I believed she was having a good day. “All right... I’m sorry, Jo, but I’m totally lost...”

Jo sighs and gets to her feet, shaking her head. “You would be totally lost, wouldn’t you?” she says, and suddenly she’s leaning forward and kissing me, and doesn’t seem to want to let me go.

Immediately, I get to my feet and step away from her. “Jo...”

“What?” she asks; her voice is husky, and I can tell that she’s fully aroused. “Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it...”

“I was raised Catholic, I...”

“What, so you’re against me, then?”

I shake my head. “No. No, that’s not what I...” I sigh, shaking my head for the second time. “No, Jo, that’s not what I mean. I mean, I’ve never thought about it because I’m heterosexual. I have no problem with homosexual people or with the gay community—in fact, I’m one of their biggest supporters. But I’m in love with Hunter, Jo. And, for a while there, it seemed like you hated my guts for being with the man I’m in love with...”

“Well, of course I did,” Jo replies. “I wanted you for myself.”

I sigh, straightening my shoulders. “Well, I’m sorry, but that’s just not going to happen. I’m in love with Hunter.”

She sighs. “All right...”

“Good. Now, I won’t mention this to the captain, but go out of line like this one more time, and I’m going to report you, Jo. You’ll never work in law enforcement again, and I could get you arrested for sexual harassment. Now, I see Barnes has come back, and I think you need to cool off. Take the rest of the afternoon off to clear your head.”

Jo nods. “Okay,” she says, turning on her heel and walking out of there.

. . .

True to my word, I don’t mention what happened between myself and Jo, and the next couple of weeks pass uneventfully. One afternoon, I leave work early for what I tell everyone is a routine check-up, but in actuality, I’m going to a prenatal appointment on my own. Arriving at the hospital, I get the clip board and fill out the routine information and await my turn with the OB/GYN. When my turn comes, I head back to the exam room with the hospital employee and lie on my stomach for my ultrasound and, towards the end, the technician’s words are music to my ears.

“Would you like to know the sex?” she asks.

I find I am smiling. “Yes,” I reply.

She nods. “Okay, let’s see...” She takes the wand and digs in slightly deeper, and the baby still moves around inside me. “Here we go. Looks like you’re going to have a bouncing baby boy, Sergeant Holbrook,” the nurse says.

“Maggie, please,” I tell her. After I’m permitted to sit up and get the goo off of my midsection, I head to the pharmacy to get my prenatal vitamins refilled. I have to walk back through the waiting room to leave the hospital, and my heart nearly stops in my chest when I see Elliot waiting for me.

“Surprised to see me?” he asks.

I suppress a groan and quickly put on my raincoat; that man could easily smell a pregnancy from a mile away, hell, he’d had five—six—children. _Five, dammit, five_ , my brain screamed at me. “Nice to see you too, Detective Stabler,” I say shortly as I move to exit the hospital.

Immediately, he walks after me. “Please tell me, _Sergeant_ Holbrook, what is it you’re doing at a hospital on a weekday afternoon?”

“Pardon me, detective, but I’m afraid you lost the right to question me quite some time ago,” I shoot back, continuing to walk.

“Hey, now, come on, don’t give me that,” Elliot says; we’ve reached the underground parking lot now where I’ve left my car, and he makes a grab for my arm in the semi-darkness. “Don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.”

“If you’re even going to _hint_ that us being over is _my_ fault, then you’re even more of a bastard than I thought,” I reply through gritted teeth.

“Why are you doing this?!” he demands, turning me forcefully to face him, his beautiful pale eyes searching my face. “We could’ve been something...”

I attempt to wrench away from him. “Us ‘being something’ was shot in the face the moment you decided to screw your wife like the teenage boy you truly are!” I hiss back at him.

Immediately, almost as if he’s not thinking, Elliot smacks me across the face and I find myself falling in a downward spiral towards the concrete bottom of the parking garage. Due to my quickness, I quickly move to catch myself, so as not to fall onto my stomach, shifting my weight to fall onto my knees. Although a sharp pain flows through me, I am more concerned with the potential damage to my unborn son; my second concern would be with my medication, which had flown out of my hands after Elliot struck me, now being picked up by him.

“Prenatal vit...” He stops mid-sentence, gripping the bottle in his shaking hands before turning and looking at me. “You’re having a _baby_ with him?”

I sigh, letting out a groan as my weight shifts to my knees as I rise slowly to my feet. “You must’ve known about Edythe...”

“That’s adoption for god’s sake,” he replies. “I can’t believe you’re actually going to have that blow-hard’s baby...”

“Well, I could’ve had your baby, Elliot,” I reply, without thinking, before I can stop myself. “Had you not slept with Kathy and gone back to her, our son would be over a year old now and he would have had two parents so deliriously in love that things would’ve been complete. But no, he can’t be here right now because of his father’s choices. I won’t say mistake, because Eli and Kathy don’t deserve any of that crap. I don’t blame them for how things went down, Elliot. I blame _you_. One-hundred-percent, straight-up, you. I loved you; you were the first man I ever loved but you sure as hell won’t be the last. And with that one blow to the face, my last ounce of love for you died completely. I know that some women carry the torch of their first love with them forever, but after that display, I welcome the day when I never have to lay eyes on you again.”

“Where is he?” Elliot whispers.

“Gone,” I reply.

“Where?”

“ _Gone_ ,” I say, the tears frozen in my eyes. “Don’t make me say it—I hate myself for doing it.”

Elliot’s face remains frozen. “You...you mean...”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Who knows?” His voice is choked.

“Olivia, Cragen, and Fin,” I reply. “And...Hunter,” I whisper.

“Four people,” he says, looking away from me and nodding to himself as he walks towards a wall of the parking garage. “Four goddamn people knew and they kept it from me!” he shouts then, proceeding to punch the wall in front of him.

“Elliot!” I cry, as he is drawing blood. “Stop!”

“Why, why, why?!” he shouts, his words pure agony. He stops just before breaking the skin, tossing the vitamins in my direction. “Have a good life,” he says, without any form of emotion, before walking slowly out of the parking lot.

I want to shout out to him.

I want to run to him.

I want to resolve this.

But I can’t; I know I can’t. It was too late for Elliot and I, but I knew then as I slipped into my car and cradled my face—warm from the smack I’d sustained from him—that our time was truly done. As I manage to pull from the parking lot, I try to think about what my life could have been like with Elliot. As I make my way to the freeway, I find that my mind keeps drawing a blank.

. . .

I arrive back at the squad room; despite everything, I am gleeful—I want most desperately to run inside and to tell Hunter that we’re going to have a baby. I want to tell him that we’re having a boy. I want to tell him about what happened with Elliot but make him promise not to press charges. As I enter the squad room, however, I see something is very wrong; the air is different somehow. Barnes is deliberately not looking at me; Hunter takes one look at me and walks out of the squad room; and Jo has the nerve to look smug for half a second before Captain Jennings comes out of his office.

“Sergeant Holbrook, my office, now,” he says, his voice completely devoid of emotion.

Quickly, I put my coat, hat, and scarf on the back of my chair before entering the office and shutting the door behind me. “Captain?” I ask.

He stands before me, like a commanding officer of an old army film; his usual happy-go-lucky self is gone, and is replaced by the utmost serious attitude. “I want to know what happened a week and a half ago in here.”

“A week and a...?” I trail off, trying to remember. “When you and Hunter went on a case and left me in charge of Partridge and Barnes?”

“Yes. That day.”

“Oh.” I sigh. “I told Barnes to go outside and get some air—he’d had that cold and I thought he could use the down time to get some air and to stretch his muscles out a bit. It was a slow day so I figured if he stayed in the general vicinity then it wouldn’t be a problem for anyone...”

“I don’t give a damn about Barnes—what you did with Barnes was fine. Barnes is not the issue at play here.”

“Oh.” I sigh. “You must be referring to what happened between me and Partridge in here...”

“Yes. That.”

“Captain, she made a pass at me,” I reply.

He raised his eyebrows. “Hold on. _She_ made a pass at _you_?!”

I nod. “Exactly! For months I’ve thought she was into Hunter but that wasn’t true at all! She claims that she was into me since the beginning! I was initially flattered yet I tried to downplay the situation and explained that Hunter and I were in a very committed relationship—this was all _after_ she kissed me.”

“She kissed you?”

I nod emphatically. “Yes, Captain. She kissed me and I separated us immediately. I told her of the impropriety and informed her that she could very well get fired and arrested and never work in law enforcement again if she was convicted of sexual harassment in the workplace...”

He sighs. “Good. Because that matches this,” he replies, grabbing a remote and showing me video of Jo’s and my ‘encounter’. The quality is surprisingly good and there is audio as well. After we watch it, he gives me a smile. “Sorry about the cold welcome—I instructed Hunter and Barnes to play at pretending to be on Jo’s side just in case she wanted to change her story after lying to me.”

I smile and nod at him. “I understand. Really.”

He gets a better look at me then, noticing the red mark on my cheek. “What happened to you?”

I lower my eyes. “I ran into a hand named Elliot Stabler...”

“Dammit,” he replies, shaking his head. “I’ll call Cragen, let him deal with it however he sees fit. If that’s all right with you...”

I nod. “That’s fine.”

“Good. Now go along downstairs and get outta this joint, Holbrook—that’s an order. Hunter wants to see you.”

“Hunter? Mr. Cold Shoulder?” I joke, moving along.

He nods. “Yeah. I’ll follow you out. I have a mind to go and see Cragen in person to tell him about that detective of his...”

I roll my eyes playfully and move to walk out with him; Barnes is not seated in the room, and Jo has seemingly wandered off somewhere, but surprisingly, I am not tipped off by the empty squad room. We make our way downstairs and out the front doors, quickly getting on our hats, coats, and scarves. I hail a cab and slip inside and am about to give the address to the penthouse, but Jennings slips in behind me and gives the driver an address I recognize but can’t pinpoint. We make our way down the darkening streets and soon we are at the underground club where I’d had my first kiss with Hunter, leading to another set of firsts for the two of us that evening. Heart in my throat, I find I cannot think as Jennings pays the driver and guides me to the staircase and inside the door, towards the elevator to the proper floor and down the dimly lit hallway—no disco lights or pumping music this time around.

“Is this a prank?” I demand, looking around, and suddenly realize that I am by myself in this darkened hallway. Hand onto my gun from where it is in its holster, I immediately feel my adrenaline kicking in as I make my way to the end of the hall and turn the corner. I make my way to the edge of the hall, and soon bright lights come on—well, neon and disco lights, to be exact—and I see _everyone_.

“Surprise!” they shout.

Looking around me, there is a total _Where’s Waldo_ moment as all around me, I see Olivia, Cragen, Fin, Munch, Gloria, Barnes, Diana, Jennings, Esmeralda, Cagney, Wilkes, Captain Harrison, my first partner Samantha Collins, and many other people from various New York units. In the center of it all is Hunter, who looks quite proud of himself at getting all of this together. I grin and find myself waving at everyone like a pageant queen and move to step closer, but Hunter beats me to the punch and moves down the throng of people before standing perfectly opposite to me. Then, I find myself gasping aloud as he gets down on one knee in front of me, and I feel like an idiot for allowing my gasp to catch in my throat as he reaches upwards to take my hand.

“Sergeant Margaret Isabelle Holbrook, I am absolutely crazy for, head over heels, madly in love with you. So I am asking you in front of our friends and colleagues of New York’s Finest, would you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming my beloved wife, and Mrs. Margaret Isabelle Grayson?”

I feel a mixture of a laugh and a gasp escape my throat then as my tears threaten to blind me. “Yes, Hunter, I will marry you,” I reply.

Hunter then reaches into his pocket, producing the stereotypical black velvet box and, when he opens it, shows me a platinum band with a three-carat, heart-shaped, diamond ring, with small circular diamonds around it. It is my dream ring, but how in the hell he knew that particular tidbit of information was beyond me. He gets to his feet and slips it upon my finger, pulling me to him and kissing me then, much to the delight of the company, who shouts in approval, clapping and cheering for the two of us. Soon we are surrounded by all of our friends and by New York’s Finest for bouts of congratulations, and it is not for another half an hour at least that a DJ suddenly comes from out of nowhere and puts on some tunes for all of us to dance to.

“Hunter, there’s actually something we need to talk about...”

“What’s that?” he asks, moving to the music as I am.

I sigh. “Do you want the wonderful matter or the legal matter first?”

“Wonderful,” he says quickly, impulsively.

I bite my lip. “I’m pregnant,” I reply.

His eyes pop at that piece of information. “Wait... You’re...”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“When did you...?”

“The accident,” I reply. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, really. But I wanted to wait for the right moment and it just never presented itself...”

He smiles. “That’s all right.”

I reach into my pocket and hand him the sonogram picture I’d gotten. “Happy early wedding,” I say with a grin. “This is our son.”

“A boy? It’s a boy?!” he cries out, like a little boy in a candy store.

I nod. “Yes, it’s a boy...”

Hunter lets out a whoop and a holler and throws his arms around me. We remain like this for several minutes; two songs come and go and he doesn’t let me go, until there is a slight lull in the music, however. “Now, what’s this legal matter?” he asks me softly in my ear.

Looking up, I manage to pick out Cragen and Jennings in the crowd. It seems as though Jennings has picked now to tell Cragen about the assault of his sergeant by one of Cragen’s detectives. Cragen is listening intently to the information, and Jennings obviously seems regretful at having to report Elliot for hitting me. I watch as Cragen listens attentively to the information, before turning to look at me through the crowd, sorrow etched onto his face.

I lower my eyes, hiding my face in Hunter’s neck for a moment before moving to whisper in his ear. “Not now,” I reply, watching as Cragen steps out of the room, cell phone pressed up to his ear. “Let’s not spoil the night...”


	8. Lost & Found

The elevator door dings and I walk up the deep gray and silver-floored hallway, turning into the SVU squad room and making my way towards the door which reads CAPTAIN CRAGEN in large letters. I smile and nod at Olivia, Fin, and John, but do my best to keep my eyes away from Elliot as I knock on the door. I hear Don’s voice on the other side, telling me to come inside, and, stepping over the threshold, am shocked to see Dr. George Huang standing there beside the desk. I grin at him and cross immediately to embrace him; it had been about two months since I’d last seen him; November had dawned, and all Edythe could talk about now was Thanksgiving break, Christmas vacation, and being the Flower Girl in Derrick and Esmerelda’s wedding.

“You look great, Maggie,” George proclaimed, gazing down at my stomach; I was nearly seven months, I was officially in maternity clothes and completely exhausted half the time.

“Desk duty really does wonders, doesn’t it?” I say, giggling as Don indulgently leads me to his comfortable desk chair and urges me to sit down. “So what do I owe the pleasure? I hardly think this is a social call...”

“Well, I figured that since I had an emergency case down in Jacksonville the day that Hunter proposed, I thought that this would be a perfect opportunity to see you and to congratulate you,” George says, and I raise my hand so as he can admire my ring. “That’s beautiful, Maggie. You must be so happy.”

I nod. “I am,” I reply. “What’s the case in Jacksonville? Everything go all right down there?”

“Thirteen-year-old boy brought a knife to school,” George replies, shaking his head and shuddering ever so slightly. “Goes into the rectory, and stabs the priest as he’s preparing for morning mass...”

“Let me guess—the priest had been abusing him?”

“Well, yes,” George says, “but apparently the boy’s parents were in government-funded housing and used their son as a bargaining chip.”

“If they were in government housing, how the hell could they possibly afford a Catholic education for their son?” I ask.

“That was my first question, too,” George says, perching on the edge of Don’s desk and folding his hands in his lap. “Apparently, the boy was a scholarship child and the parents wanted desperately to have a proper home, as their son had three younger sisters. So they told the priest about their troubles and the priest agreed to use some emergency church funds to buy them a home which would accommodate them and their five children, as the mother is pregnant again. The only catch was that the priest be allowed to sexually abuse their son...”

“Which of course the priest didn’t put into those terms,” I say, shaking my head. “I bet he just asked for company or for an altar boy to help out around the church... I mean, am I right?”

“Afraid so,” George replies. He sighs a little, turning to look at Cragen, who nods to him, before turning back to look at me. “Maggie, I have to tell you the real reason why I’m here in your meeting with Cragen...”

“Why?” I ask.

“I have to give you a psychological evaluation based on your attack with Elliot a few weeks ago,” he replies.

“Why didn’t I get one before?”

“I figured I’d let the dust settle for a while. What with you wrapping up some cases being on desk duty, the engagement, the pregnancy, and the whole sexual harassment business with Detective Partridge, Don and I figured the best thing for you was space and time to digest everything...”

I sigh. “Jo Partridge has been fired and is prevented from entering a career in law enforcement for the rest of her life. She took a plea deal,” I tell him, leaning back ever so slightly in Don’s chair. “No jail time, provided that it doesn’t go on her record after three years and that she hands over her badge and promising not to enter law enforcement ever again. Can’t think of what she can do now, besides write a bestseller for bored mom’s and do a piece of self-indulgent crap Lifetime movie called something along the lines of _How I Was Wronged: The Jo Partridge Story_...”

Don does his best not to laugh. “Yes, well, George thinks that you need a proper evaluation as soon as possible. It’s for your own safety, and besides, you need to have one before you take the Lieutenant’s Exam...”

I raise my eyebrows. “Word sure travels fast... I thought that Derrick wasn’t making the announcement for a few more weeks...”

Don smirks. “Well, we were in the academy together, and besides, we’re both captains of units in New York’s Finest. We talk.”

I nod. “Yes, I see...”

“Come on,” George says then, holding out his hand for me to take; I grab it, and he eases me to my feet, bringing me into the adjoining interrogation room, where I am permitted to sit. Don flashes me a quick smile, shutting the door behind the two of us, and says he won’t allow us to be disturbed. George sits opposite me at the table and I picture Elliot and Olivia interrogating mass child killers there. The thought makes me shudder, and I clasp my hands together. “Feeling all right?” George asks as a means of breaking the ice.

I nod. “Of course. Just a minor spasm,” I lie.

George sighs. “Maggie, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Come on; I need you to be honest with me.”

I sigh, straightening my back against the chair. “Honestly?” I bite my lip, afraid to show honesty, but knowing that I have to. “Honestly, I have a lot of resentment built up for a lot of people in my life...”

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Like my birth mother for instance,” I reply. “I know she was only eighteen and doing what she thought was best for me, but I still feel some anger towards her for pretty much abandoning me. I would never want to hurt her, but I’d love to seek her out and talk to her about why she did what she did... Is that selfish and wrong for me to want to do? I had loving parents—I mean, initially, until I went against their beliefs—and a pretty good childhood... That went downhill at seventeen, when I was assaulted,” I say softly.

George nods, ingesting everything I say. “No, of course it’s not selfish and wrong to ask where you’ve come from,” he replies. “And as for the feelings of resentment towards your birth mother, that’s quite common. I understand that you just want to talk to her—just to get some closure if nothing else.”

I nod. “Yes. That’s what I need. Closure.”

“Now, let’s discuss what happened between you and Detective Elliot Stabler. How and when did you meet him?”

“I met him in June of 2003, one month before my eighteenth birthday. He and Olivia were the detectives assigned to my case. Although I was born in New York, I moved to Seattle when my father’s work took him there when I was a little girl. I had wanted to pursue acting and I’d been accepted into The Julliard Drama School and yet I wanted to actually _see_ New York beforehand...”

“Vacation?” George asks.

I nod. “Graduation present,” I reply. “It was a solo trip between my mom and I and everything was going well. On the afternoon of the attack, we’d seen a musical and then went to FAO Schwartz—I’ve always had a thing for stuffed toys. I was shown to the bathroom by an employee and after I’d finished, while washing my hands, a man came inside and raped me...”

“I don’t mean to be inconsiderate towards you, Maggie, and feel free not to answer this question... Were you a virgin at the time of your attack?”

I feel my cheeks flame as I lower my eyes; I can feel myself wanting to go into a fetal position, which is difficult due to my pregnancy. “Yes,” I say softly. “I was raised Catholic and taught to believe that premarital sex was a sin... This was before I left the church, obviously...”

“And how soon after meeting him did you begin a relationship with Detective Elliot Stabler?”

My cheeks flame once again as I do my best to keep my eyes lowered. “It was after I moved to New York, when I was a police officer,” I reply. “That first night I was here, he offered to walk me home that evening; I’d met you and former ADA Casey Novak at the time as well, over dinner. When Detective Stabler walked me home, something just clicked between us; he initiated the first kiss, but I didn’t stop him. I always tell myself that he took my virginity, because...”

“Because that happened to be your first consensual sexual encounter,” George replies, nodding as if he understood. “That’s very understandable. Your attacker raped you, which isn’t so much about pleasure as it is about power...”

“And Elliot made love to me, which was about sexual attraction...”

“When did the relationship formally begin?”

I shrug. “I don’t know what we even were to each other. Yeah, he spent the night sometimes, but we only usually _talked_ after our...encounters. We mainly talked work; Elliot didn’t like to get personal, especially about his wife and family. I felt something shift inside me after we’d been ‘together’, for lack of a better word, for about six months...”

“What happened?”

“I asked when I was going to meet his children,” I say softly. “I knew it would be awkward, considering that I was only a year younger than his oldest daughter, but I thought that we were at a good place to brooch the subject. I was calm the whole time and nothing seemed off until he just...snapped.”

“Snapped?” George asks. “How?”

“He got out of bed and immediately began to get dressed,” I reply. “I remember him saying, ‘We’ve got a good thing going here. Why you gotta ruin it?!’ I just remember feeling so sad, and I cried a little, and he said, ‘Aw, come on, don’t cry, now. I hate babes who cry’. It felt like he was undercover, and that I was nothing more than...”

“Nothing more than what?”

“A sex worker,” I reply, keeping my eyes down. “I felt like I wouldn’t have even been surprised if he threw some crumpled bills on my nightstand...”

“How did your relationship end?”

I raised my eyes to George’s, feeling my lower lip tremble. What kind of a question was that? I felt a lump in my throat then, and I almost didn’t want to answer him at all. Feeling my nails biting in my palms, the sharp pain bringing me back to the situation at hand, I finally forced myself to answer him. “Where do I begin?” I whispered.

ELLIOT’S POV

I heard a door open inside Don’s office and wondered what was happening. Liv had taken a phone call, her customary greeting of “Benson” not lost on me. I turned and looked at John, who turned from his computer screen to look at me, before sighing a little and shaking his head, turning back to the screen. Looking across from me, to Fin, seated opposite John, I could see a look of pure anger in his eyes.

“Don’t hurt the kid again,” he says, before answering his phone. “Tutuola,” he says, and I feel anger rising in me then.

Getting to my feet, I make my way over to our small coffee station. Grabbing my mug, I pour the hot, cheap-smelling liquid into it; the smell does nothing for me anymore, but when I first made detective, I thought that by having coffee in the squad room and not having to constantly get it on the beat meant that I officially had it made. Turning around, I manage to swallow three times before bringing the mug back over to my desk; I do my best not to slam it down; legal documents are a bitch anyway, even without coffee stains.

I turn and look at the office again; the captain has drawn the blinds and has shut the door, indicating that there is a private session going on. I look back at Olivia, who is presumably taking someone’s statement; it has been a slow day, and I wonder if anyone would really notice if I got to my feet and gradually made my way over to Cragen’s office. _Probably_ , I speculated, taking hold of a pen on my desk and taping it absentmindedly on the pad of paper in front of me as Olivia finished her telephone conversation.

“Ell...”

“What?” I raise my eyes to hers; they are a lovely deep brown color and know then as I knew when we became partners that if I hadn’t felt like an older brother to her, then I’d have turned to her after my split with Kathy.

“Don’t.” She nods in the direction of Cragen’s office. “She’s carrying Grayson’s baby, and you need to let it go.”

“I’ll never let it go, Liv,” I reply, shaking my head; I find I am cursing myself for sounding all choked up like a goddamned weakling. “I love her...”

“She’s marrying Grayson, man,” Fin says, obviously exasperated with me, leaning back in his desk chair.

“Fin!” John says sharply.

“Oh, god...” Olivia says.

I only see red as I turn on the three of them. “What do you mean she’s marrying that guy?!” I demand then. “What the hell do you mean?!”

“The engagement was weeks ago, man,” Fin replies. “She found out she was having a boy on the same day that Grayson proposed to her...”

“That’s the day I...” I find myself shaking; had I not struck her, perhaps I could have won her back to me. I find myself getting to my feet and stampeding over to Cragen’s office; I nearly rip the door off its hinges as I trample in, none of the other detectives making an effort to follow me. “Captain!” I shout, although he is less than two feet away from me.

“Elliot!” Don says, shocked, turning back to me. “What the hell are you doing in here?! You know that when the blinds are down and the door is closed, you stay out of here! That’s an order!”

“Don’t give me that order bull,” I reply, slamming the door behind me. “What the hell is going on here?!” I demand, walking over to stand next to him. I look through the window into the comfortable interrogation room, reserved for friendly talk as opposed to questioning suspects. I watch as I see her reach up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, the diamond sparkling in the center of her left hand—her dominant hand. “Captain...”

“Detective. Out. Now.” Captain speaks choppily, so as I will know that he means business and that I have to leave.

“I need to hear what she says,” I reply, shoving past him and turning up the volume on the room.

“I asked when I was going to meet his children,” Maggie says softly. “I knew it would be awkward, considering that I was only a year younger than his oldest daughter, but I thought that we were at a good place to brooch the subject. I was calm the whole time and nothing seemed off until he just...snapped.”

“Snapped?” George asks. “How?”

“He got out of bed and immediately began to get dressed,” Maggie replies. “I remember him saying, ‘We’ve got a good thing going here. Why you gotta ruin it?!’ I just remember feeling so sad, and I cried a little, and he said, ‘Aw, come on, don’t cry, now. I hate babes who cry’. It felt like he was undercover, and that I was nothing more than...”

“Nothing more than what?”

“A sex worker,” she replies, keeping her eyes down. “I felt like I wouldn’t have even been surprised if he threw some crumpled bills on my nightstand...”

“How did your relationship end?”

She raised her eyes to George’s; I watch as her lower lip trembles. What kind of a question was that? I felt a lump in my throat then, and I almost didn’t want her to answer him at all. Feeling my nails biting in my palms, the sharp pain bringing me back to the situation at hand, I watched as she finally forced herself to answer the good doctor.

“Where do I begin?” she whispered.

“You loved him,” George says to Maggie.

“Is it really that obvious?” she says softly. “If I’m being honest, I can forgive him for all of it—I just wish we’d discussed it a bit. He just expected to get right back in bed with me, almost as if nothing had happened. It made me feel worthless beyond belief that I...”

“That you...?”

“That I got an abortion,” she whispers.

“You feel shame?” George asks.

She nods, and I see then that she is crying. “Yes, more than you know...” She takes an offered Kleenex and dabs at her face. “I loved him so much—all I’ve ever wanted was to marry the man I love and to raise his kids. I thought Elliot was that man; I guess I was wrong...”

“You’re not wrong,” I say, leaning up against the wall; Captain has stopped trying to force me out, in fact, he’s watching me in fascination.

“What did you do when you discovered he’d slept with his wife?”

“That was before the abortion,” she replies, trying to remain steady.

“Would you say you got the abortion out of revenge?”

It looks as if someone has knifed her in the gut. “No!” she cries, and her voice is so pure in its anguish that I know it wasn’t her intention. “No, of course not! I would have loved to have had that child, but I felt I wasn’t at a good place in my life to have one. All I wanted was stability, and Elliot Stabler. But both those things were too much to ask for, apparently...” Her voice breaks.

“And now?” George asks. “With this new possible promotion, your engagement, and a new child on the way?”

“Everything’s great,” Maggie says.

“And how about your foster daughter, Edythe?”

“She’s wonderful,” Maggie replies, wiping her eyes and giggling. “The adoption goes through in two months.”

“That must have been quite a challenging development for you and Hunter to begin with,” George says compassionately.

She nods. “It was. When I found out she was available to be adopted, initially I was reluctant, but I originally had a considerable amount of time to adjust to the idea.” Maggie sees George inclining his head, so she knows to continue. “Her late grandmother, Mrs. Bennington, wished to meet with me before the official process began. Her grandmother had been made her lawful guardian, and her grandfather as well, but he passed away and she soon discovered that she had cancer. It was too late to do much, other than to get her affairs in order, and she seemed adamant from the beginning that it was I who Edythe wanted to live with. I got a letter from her before she was murdered—which happened to be the same day I met her—telling me that she had informed her lawyer that she wanted me to adopt Edythe. It was shocking to me, because she had not met me yet...”

“How did Hunter react?” George wants to know.

“He was shocked, at first, and expressed a desire to meet with Edythe, which I found acceptable. However, he soon became as enchanted with her as I was, and soon we filled out paperwork to become domestic partners—we weren’t thinking about marriage then, at least, I wasn’t—so that when Edythe is adopted, she will take Hunter’s name...”

“So you weren’t expecting the engagement?”

“In all honesty, no,” Maggie replies, taking ahold of that beautiful hair I used to become lost in, bringing it away from the nape of her neck and putting it gently and carefully on her left shoulder. “I mean, I’d only just found out I was pregnant a few weeks before, and I was fully prepared for Hunter’s shock—we weren’t even trying for a baby. I was on a new form of birth control and the condom ended up breaking...”

“So, technically speaking, this was not a planned pregnancy?”

“Nothing about my relationship with Hunter was planned,” she says softly. “I mean, the first time we got together it was...”

“Was what?” George asks. “This is a safe place, Maggie.”

She sighs; the noise is delicate, sensitive. “Hunter and I pretty much hated one another,” she replies.

“Well, that’s not a healthy thing for a relationship...”

“Well, the sexual attraction was there from the beginning, but I would never admit to it, then, and neither would he... The first night we got together physically was at this Christmas party for various units in New York. I arrived with Olivia—Olivia Benson—and she told me that Detective Stabler would be there that night with his wife...” She sighs a little. “I avoided him from the get-go, and confided in Captain Cragen the fact that Elliot was the father...”

“Of your child you had aborted?”

“Yes.” She is clearly hesitant, but slowly she continues, “I saw how Kathy Stabler was with her detective husband and it made me sick. I never drink, and I make it a rule that if I do, only a glass maximum, to be consumed in an hour. I was downing shot after shot after shot...” She looks up at him, her eyes full of tears. “Please don’t think I’m an irresponsible person, George...”

He softens ever so slightly and shakes his head. “Of course not. You were clearly suffering from emotional distress. And besides, I know you quite well and I know how dedicated you are to your job. We all get out of line once in a while. Consider this your free pass.” He hesitates before saying, “What happened next?”

“Well, after I was drunk I forced myself to wander away from the drink table and went to stand by myself. I saw Elliot making his way towards me, and just noticed Hunter walking by me. I stepped forward and grabbed Hunter and asked him to dance and he accepted... It was...”

“What?”

“Like nothing I’d ever experienced before,” Maggie says quietly. “The attraction which had built-up over the several months we’d known each other was electric and unlike anything I’d experienced before. I remember asking him to go home with me and he did—he initially agreed to escort me home, but soon we ended up in my...bedroom.”

“How long did it take the relationship to grow?”

“After my accident with the mob when I was undercover, Hunter told me that he loved me and that he didn’t want to lose me. I loved him, too, and continue to do so day in and day out, through thick and thin. We moved in together last summer and things have been going splendidly...”

“You sound hesitant...”

She sighs again. “I just have this overwhelming feeling that I’m not good enough for him,” she replies. “After what happened with Elliot, I’m afraid...”

“You’re afraid that he’ll leave you for someone you perceive to be better,” he says, not unkindly.

Maggie nods emphatically. “Yes!” she cries. “Exactly!”

“It’s not good to think that way...”

“So, there is something wrong with me?” she asks, lowering her eyes.

“No, of course not,” George replies. “You’re only human, and this is a very normal human emotion.”

“What should I do?”

“You should communicate your insecurities to Hunter in such a way that doesn’t make it seem like you’re accusing him or that you’re desperate for him to stay with you,” he replies sensibly.

“Can’t listen to this anymore,” I say, quickly turning down the dial and turning back to Don. “Why the hell did you let me stay?! Think I want to listen to her proclaim her love for another man?!”

“Elliot, I know this is difficult for you,” Don replies, “but you have to face facts now. She’s moved on—they’re living together; they’re adopting a child together; they’re engaged; she’s pregnant with their first biological child. You need to let Maggie go, while you still can...”

“And what the hell does that mean?!” I demand.

Don’s face remains impassive. “It means that Kathy, who is a very intelligent woman, Elliot, could catch on eventually and leave you again. You don’t want her to take the kids from you a second time, do you?”

I sigh, turning to look at Maggie again; I mean against the wall, gripping onto the side panels of the window. “I wasn’t there when she took the kids the first time,” I reply softly. “And I sure as hell wasn’t there when Maggie made that same decision for me...”

Don puts his hand on my shoulder. “Elliot, let her go. For Kathy’s sake.”

I turn back and look at him. “I’ll do it for the kids,” I reply.

MAGGIE’S POV 

Don allows me to go through his office and out of his side door so as I don’t have to walk through the squad room again. I step out directly into the hallway, and see Olivia, who waves, a coat draped over one arm. She explains that she’s done for the night and offers to buy me dinner, which I graciously accept. We catch the elevator together and make small talk as we reach the ground floor, head past security, and outside where we manage to get a cab.

“Ankles swollen?” she asks as we get inside. “236 W Fifty-Sixth, please,” she tells the cabby before leaning back against the seat. “Doctors say you should keep your feet elevated. Are you doing that?”

“Constantly,” I reply. “I must have bought more throw pillows in the last three weeks than I’ve done in my entire life...”

Olivia laughs at that as our cabby finds FDR Drive and continues south towards Lower Manhattan. Olivia leans forward and pays the man as we arrive at our destination a good twenty minutes later, and we two step out onto the sidewalk and up towards an Italian restaurant called Patsy’s, which I’d heard of in the past but never been to. We walked in the main doors and Olivia requested a table for two as I gazed at the white tablecloths and fine art on the walls. We were seated almost immediately and took up our menus, and I skimmed and skimmed until I found my favorite, chicken parmesan. I sipped my iced water delicately, wondering, as we sat in this beautiful place, what would eventually happen next...

. . .

“Hunter!” I scream; I am sweating from head to toe, wondering why this pain is so excruciating to bear. He is at my side in a minute, his gold wedding band glinting up at me in the harsh lights which are upon me. I grip his hand in mine; I don’t want him wandering away again.

“Sweetheart, it’s going to be fine...”

“It’s too early, Hunter!” I wail, wanting pain medication desperately. “What if he isn’t okay?!”

It was true, it was too early. I was barely eight months pregnant, and already the baby was trying to make his way into the world. I was barely listening to Hunter, informing me that the nurse had said to think of happy thoughts. _What_?! _A Peter Pan cop-out_?! _Jesus, what were we paying hospitals for these days_?! I forced myself, for the sake of the baby, however, to think of some good things...at least, I tried.

I remembered Edythe being prettier than the bride at Derrick’s and Esmerelda’s wedding just before Christmas. I remembered formally making Edythe one of our own just a month later. I remembered saying “I do” to Hunter, just three and a half weeks after Derrick married Esmeralda. None of my family had been in attendance that day—nor had Elliot or any of the Stablers—although I had invited my family and not Elliot. Since none of my family had come, I asked Don to walk me down the aisle, and he looked so honored; Olivia was my Maid of Honor, along with my Bridesmaids being several other detectives I was on good terms with.

Derrick, Fin, and John were Hunter’s Best Men, and they all looked equally pleased for the two of us, although Fin stole me for the most dances on that day. I knew that, had Fin been unfamiliar to Hunter, that perhaps my new husband would have been jealous. However, we both were very familiar with Fin’s friendly, street-wise demeanor, so Hunter knew he had nothing to worry about.

I remembered George coming to me just a week after the wedding—he’d been in Chicago on a case and couldn’t make it—informing me that he had drawn up the paperwork on my psych exam and that he thought that I was perfectly normal and great for the job of Lieutenant. He, Don, and Derrick vouched for me, along with Olivia, Fin, and John, and that was just enough for me to take the exam and pass with flying colors. I’d been Lieutenant Maggie Grayson for just under a week when my son decided to make his way into the world.

“It’s coming!” I screeched then, gripping Hunter’s hand—or, I should say Captain Hunter Grayson—as hard as I could as I felt something exiting from my womb and into the midwife’s hand. “Well?” I asked, hoarse.

“Your boy is here,” she replies, crossing the room to clean and weigh him as I immediately collapse against Hunter.

“You were brilliant,” he assures me, kissing my forehead as our son is brought to us immediately afterwards. “Well, Maggie?” he asks as our boy is carefully handed over to me and I quickly manage to sooth him, finding myself chuckling as I allow him to find my breast. “What do you want to name him?”

“Donald Fin Grayson,” I whisper, kissing his forehead. I am relieved when Hunter proclaims it a wonderful name and nods to the midwife to sign his birth certificate, complete with time and date—January the thirty-first, 2010, at approximately eleven-thirty-seven p.m., while his weight is given as six pounds seven ounces, and he is proclaimed to be completely healthy. He has Hunter’s dark hair and deep blue eyes and I feel content that he managed to get my nose instead of his father’s. I kiss his chubby little cheek as I hand our boy over to Hunter and lean back, the next gripping pain I feel then is expected, as I know the placenta has to come into play. However, I soon feel the pain coming in waves, like contractions, and much more than I ever thought possible, and I look fearfully at Hunter.

“What is it?” he asks, concerned.

“Something’s wrong...” I whisper.

Hunter gently puts a now-sleeping Donald in his provided hospital bed and runs out of the room, catching the midwife and bringing her back. “She’s in a lot of pain and we don’t know what’s wrong...”

“Calm down, Captain Grayson, it’s probably just the placenta...”

“Check me!” I growl through my teeth, not wanting to wake up Donald. “I’ll arrest your sorry ass for malpractice if you don’t do your goddamn job!”

The midwife takes the threat seriously and makes her way over to me, checking me between my legs and I feel my heart sink as her eyes widen at that moment. “Oh, my god,” she says, and bolts from the room. “Nurse!” she yells.

“Hunter?!” I squeak, afraid.

“It’ll be fine,” he replies as the midwife returns with the nurse and another crib and I feel my eyes widen. _What is happening_?!

“You’re having twins, Lieutenant Grayson,” the midwife says patiently. “The new baby is crowning now... Can you give me a push?”

I do my best, hoping that my screams won’t wake Donald up. Shivering, drenched in sweat, I feel content with Hunter’s arms around me as he cheers me on. I fall back against the bed as the second child is delivered, and tell Hunter to watch as they manage to set this baby to rights.

“Baby Girl, born January thirty-first, 2010 at approximately eleven-fifty-nine p.m., weighing five pounds nine ounces,” says the midwife after she’s cleaned her. She wraps her in pink blankets and puts a pink hat onto her perfect head before bringing her back to me. The brown hair matches mine to a tee, and I know she will have my eyes; she got my nose as well, and while Donald’s mouth is so like Greyson’s, I know my daughter has mine...

“Name?” Hunter asks softly.

I smile at that, kissing her forehead. “Olivia Margaret Grayson,” I reply.

. . .

Hunter let it slip soon thereafter that we’d had twins; the department had wanted to throw me a baby shower, but I much preferred to do it myself. Since we’d been expecting a boy, we needed a few things for Livi in order for her to have a wonderful upbringing as well, although the department helped with a few choice things for Livi. We redecorated half the nursery so as one side was blue and one side was pink, and gave Livi all the frills and thrills she would have wanted had she spoken. Edythe, although loving with Donald, was even more excited at the prospect of having a little sister, and always would want to help in dressing her up due to the fun little outfits we got her.

Helena was as equipped with babies as she was with children of Edythe’s age, so Hunter and I gave her a much-deserved raise. I was to have six weeks off from work in order to take care of the babies and Edythe, but Helena still picked up Edythe to and from school, did the laundry, and cooked the meals. One day after about a month into maternity leave, Hunter came home from work early, leaving the squad in charge of the newly promoted Sergeant Nate Barnes. We’d also taken on four new detectives so as to make the work load easier—there was Melanie Sorenson from Tucson who had been a beat cop for five years before moving to New York and applying for promotion; Violette Fairfax from Little Rock, on the beat for four years before being a detective for two and moving to New York to be closer to her sick mother; and James Ford from Denver, a live-wire who seemed to want to fit in; he was about three years younger than I was, and had no family other than an older sister, Cassandra, whom he lived with.

“New DA,” he tells me swiftly as he enters the house. “Serena MacAndrew—seems nice enough I suppose. Graduated first in her class from Harvard—a little young, though. Seems to be a friend of Kim Greylek...”

“Special Victims’ former ADA?” I ask. “Wow. Interesting...”

“That’s not the only interesting piece of news,” Hunter replies. “Come on. We’re going for a drive. Got the car out of the garage.”

“Hunter...”

“Come on. The twins are napping and Helena’s doing laundry. I told her to keep the baby monitor on her if anything happens and we’ll be back before she has to go get Edythe from school.”

I roll my eyes and grab a sweater, putting up my hair in a ponytail and following Hunter into the hallway and down the elevator. Stepping outside into the cool winter air, I smiled and waved to where Stanley was standing outside at the curb with our car. He waved us off as we glided off from the penthouse building and past Central Park, driving through the Bronx and still heading north. I felt my mouth fall open as Hunter’s driving slowed as we entered Westchester, considered to be the ‘posh suburbia’ of New York. We finally arrived at a gated community where Hunter keyed in a passcode, allowing the black iron gates to open before us and permitted us to drive inside.

The curves paths were smooth and uninhibited by broken roads, and the sidewalks were lines with oak trees. The mansions we were passing were beautiful, and soon the spaces between each gradually got larger and larger. Soon, we arrived in an area where each mansion had its own land; peering closer, Hunter pulled into one rather foliage-covered cobblestone path and accelerated the car. The plaque on the brick wall ahead of us dubbed this house THE WINDS MANOR, and I felt my jaw fall unbecomingly open as we drove through a second gate and further up the cobblestone drive. There was a lovely fountain in the center which we had to drive around, and the porch had white stone lions a few feet from the doors.

A flamboyantly-dressed man in a three-piece-suit stepped out of the house and introduced himself as Chester, shaking Hunter’s hand familiarly, and gushed over having the pleasure of meeting me ‘at long last’. We stepped into the grand foyer of the beautiful, red-bricked house, and I instantly was admiring the grand cherry wood furniture. On the ground floor was a lounge, a drawing room, a living room, the massive kitchen, a breakfast nook, a luxurious study big enough for two, a large dining room, and a ballroom. I walked through the kitchen and saw a sliding glass door; upon opening it, I saw a large pool, a hot tub, and a trampoline all set up, and felt excited when Chester proclaimed that all came with the house upon it being bought.

Pulling us back inside, Chester showed us the grand staircase in the foyer, as well as the less formal one in the kitchen, which both led to the second floor. The second floor had a master suite, which was complete with two walk-in closets, an en suite bathroom with two sinks, facilities, and a separate bathtub and shower, as well as a view of the backyard. The master suite had an empire-king-sized bed, which was a four-poster made from ornately-carved cherry wood; it also boasted a canopy and elegant velvet curtains. Across from the bed was an old-fashioned vanity table, and above that, there was an incredible flat screen positioned just so you were able to watch T.V. comfortably from bed. There was a nightstand each on the sides of the bed, and incredible bay windows situated between each of them and the walk-in closets.

Outside the master suite was the guest suite, which was just the same as the master suite except it only had one walk-in closet. On the opposite side of the house, just behind the staircase, were four bedrooms, so each of our children would have their own room, as well an another one, if Hunter and I decided to have another child. I wanted to see the kitchen more than the bedrooms at the moment—although after inspection, I found them all to be lovely; the biggest one, at this point, would go to Edythe, while the twins would probably stay in our room for a few more months, while Helena would, I initially believed, take the guest suite.

After admiring the old-fashioned kitchen with modern appliances, Hunter asked if we could look at the land beyond, to which Chester consented. Just past the pool and just a few yards away from the house was a guest house, and I was gleeful that my family would have somewhere to stay, should they ever want to be welcomed back into my life again. While Hunter initially thought that Helena would want the guest house, I explained that the guest suite would be more appropriate, to which he immediately agreed.

We thanked Chester for his time that afternoon and headed back on the road once more; I didn’t want to leave. I slumped in my seat, crossing my arms carefully, as my breasts were still swollen and could potentially burst, and I happened to like this particular sweater. As we drove in silence up the cobblestone drive, down the main drag of road and out the iron gate, making our way to the highway, I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through Hunter’s mind.

“Did you like the house?” he asks as we begin to make our way back south towards Manhattan.

“I _loved_ it,” I reply.

He chuckles. “Good. I put an offer on it last week.”

Had I been driving, I would have pulled into oncoming traffic. “What?!” I cry, clearly shocked.

Hunter grins. “Yeah. Olivia knows your style backwards and forwards and she owed me a favor anyway so I brought her along to look at it. While she was hesitant about me putting an offer on it before discussing it with you, she seemed to think you’d like it...”

I lean closer to him and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you...”

“You’re welcome.”

“But what about Edythe?” I ask. “We can hardly expect Helena to drive her forty-five minutes into the city for school. Work is one thing, but the poor thing will be so exhausted from all that schlepping around... Although Helena will need a car eventually...”

“Oh, we’re getting her a car,” Hunter replies. “But, I thought of that. There’s a school out there called The Master’s School; it’s a boarding school that takes in grades from five to twelve. It’s a college preparatory school, and it’s only about twenty minutes away. She could come home to us on weekends and holidays and I think it would be good for her...”

“But what would Edythe say...?”

“She knows,” Hunter tells me. “She saw the house when I took Olivia to see it and she absolutely loves it. I met with the headmistress and she is a lovely woman and gave Edythe a tour. She adored it and we can afford the endowment and the tuition for her to boot. She took the entrance exam and passed with flying colors—the headmistress wants to advance her to sixth grade, instead of fifth. She really thinks she’s ready.”

I smile through my tears; my baby wasn’t even eleven years old, and she was beginning to leave childhood utterly behind. Sitting back in my chair, I was reminded of the frail girl I met so long ago; now I was married with three children, and no longer a beat cop—I was Lieutenant Margaret Grayson, second-in-command of the Manhattan Homicide Unit. But I was a mom first, I thought to myself, pulling up the information about the prep school on my phone. The academics looked amazing, I had to admit, and my heart swelled with pride at the notion that our Edythe had been accepted. Biting my lip, I knew that Hunter knew of Edythe’s best interests as much as I did, so I nodded.

“Okay,” I say softly, turning off my phone so that the screen goes black, yet waiting for my next adventure. “When do we move?”

“Eager, aren’t we?” he asks, taking my hand.

I smile and take his hand back. “I’m always eager for the next chapter of whatever comes with you,” I reply.


	9. Innocent Until Proven Guilty

Spring arrived in good time and already Edythe was clamoring to attend the annual summer trip at The Master’s School; that year, it was a trip to Florida, where the kids would go to museums, restaurants, tour a marine base, a beach day, and, on the final two days, a trip to Disney World. I’d agreed to speak to Hunter about it, but I knew he would give in; he was convinced that he had to do whatever he could to spoil Edythe. Edythe didn’t act spoiled; she would ask for things, of course, but usually would drop it if Hunter or I said ‘no’, which wasn’t very often. However, with this trip, he desperately wanted to give Edythe her way.

I was in the squad room at the end of April; I had the office for the day, as Hunter was out with Det. James Ford on a case; I was manning the office while Nate was in charge of the squad room itself. He had his own sergeant’s desk now, while I had a smaller office on the opposite side of the squad room and Hunter usually kept to himself in the bigger office, which is where I now sat. I was going over some paperwork when Nate knocked on my door and came in.

“Nate,” I say, getting to my feet and shuffling a few papers. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay? Did Hunter call from assignment?”

“No.” Nate shakes his head. “Sorry to interrupt, Lieutenant, but someone’s here to see you.”

I nod. “All right. Send them in.” I am taken aback when Elliot comes in and Nate shuts the door behind him, but I force myself to keep my cool. “Detective Stabler, how are you?” I ask coolly.

“Fine.” He sits across from me. “Look, I’m not happy about being here, just as I’m sure you’re not pleased to see me.”

“Doesn’t matter.” I sit back down and fold my hands out in front of me. “What can I do for you?”

“Lieutenant...”

“Elliot, please,” I say, sighing. “We may as well forget the formalities—we were sleeping together for over a year.”

He stiffens at that, and I wonder if it means that he’s now totally committed to Kathy or, worse, that he’s wired. “Yes, well, I’ve come here on strictly business purposes...”

“Strictly business,” I say, nodding. “Okay. Let me have it.”

“Tony Moreno’s trial date has been set for the end of next month,” Elliot replies steadily. “Now, I know it’ll be difficult for you, so SVU has personally arranged for you to sit down with our new ADA.”

“Who is?” I ask, knowing that Kim Greylek had returned to D.C.

“Sonya Paxton,” Elliot replies. “Nice enough, I guess.”

“Sonya Paxton?” I ask, shocked.

“You know her?”

I nod. “Yeah. I had to sit down with her during the incident with Jo Partridge,” I say, shaking my head. “She used to work for us...”

“Yeah, well, that’s all I came here to say,” Elliot says, getting to his feet, and almost makes it to the door.

“Elliot.” My voice stops him and he turns around. “Cragen told me everything. I know you were listening in on my session with George.”

Elliot goes white. “What?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

He steps forward then, torture in his eyes. “Why would Cragen do something like that? Is it because I’m only a detective and you’re a lieutenant?”

I shake my head. “That’s not why...”

“Then why?”

I lower my eyes. “Cragen and his wife separated and Cragen had an affair,” I say quietly. “The woman came forward some time later and told Cragen that she had had a daughter and put her up for adoption. She gave the date as sometime in the midsummer of 1985, and that the child was born here in New York. She blocked the rest of it, because she couldn’t seem to give Cragen more information...”

“Maggie...”

I raise my eyes to his. “We’re waiting on the DNA sample, Elliot. Cragen is prepared to put his best foot forward if it turns out that I’m his biological daughter, and he intends to have whatever time we have left together...”

“Is he dying?”

I shake my head. “No. But I don’t know how much longer I’ll be with the department, Elliot. Hunter and I are moving to Westchester, and maybe their Homicide Unit will want us...”

Elliot runs towards me then, separating the distance between us and grabbing me to him then. I give one small amount of thanks that the door is closed and the blinds are drawn when he dips his head down and kisses me. I let out a small moan in longing and throw my arms around him then; tears course down my face as we do this—committing this sin. I want him, I realize that; if I had it my way, I’d let him shove everything deemed important off this godforsaken desk and have me right on its top. But I know I can’t; I’m married, and this must never get out, this indiscretion, this adultery. Wrenching away from Elliot, I tell him to leave without looking at him, and he does. After checking my makeup and wiping the tears away I step out into the squad room.

Looking around, I see Nate showing Sorenson and Fairfax the computer ropes and know I have to interrupt them. “Nate,” I call.

“Yeah, Lieutenant?” he asks, stepping forward.

“Can you hold down the fort for an hour or two? I’ve got to do something,” I say with a forced smile.

He nods. “No problem,” he says.

I flash him a smile and slip out of the squad room, pulling my coat on as I run. I feel as if the pouring rain is a bad omen as I dash out of there and hail a taxi. I ask them to take me to the nearest Catholic church and I pay them quickly before going inside and escaping from the rain. I rush to the confessional, and am pleased to find a priest in there.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I say, lowering my eyes. “It’s been many years since my last confession...”

“What is it you’ve done, my daughter?” he asks.

I bite my lip. “I’ve kissed and lusted for a married man,” I whisper.

“Are you involved with anyone?”

I nod, deliberately showing off my ring. “I’m also married, with three children,” I reply softly. “He’s got five...”

“What made you do this?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I hate myself...”

“Your penance is to talk to your husband,” the priest tells me.

Mortified, I leave the booth, dumping some change into the little wooden box and head back outside. Biting my lip, I hail another cab and climb inside, shivering as I say, “The Offices of Dr. George Huang,” and give them his address.

. . .

I step out of the cab and onto the rainy sidewalk, doing my best not to twist my ankle as I walk inside the office building and make my way, disheveled, towards the elevators. Crossing my fingers that George does not currently have a pressing appointment at this time, the chrome double doors ding and allow me to pass through them. Stepping inside, I press the correct button, with the words GEORGE HUANG, PSYCHIATRIST stamped directly next to it. Nibbling my bottom lip impatiently as the elevator takes me upstairs, I find myself shuffling from foot to foot to ease the pain and guilt that I feel.

The doors ding in what seems like twenty minutes but is really twenty seconds. I step out into the foyer; there is an attractive walnut end table placed up against the wall, corresponding nicely with the pale periwinkle wall and white paneling. On the table itself is an ornate ceramic flower pot with fresh white lrises in it, their bright, egg-yolk-yellow insides peeking out at me. I walk in the proper direction towards the office and tap upon the door; it is made from the same wood as the end table down the hall.

The door opens before me and George raises his eyebrows, a small smile appearing on his face. “Maggie. Everything okay?”

I lower my eyes. “No.”

He nods, shifting so as to open the door for me to step inside. “Come on in. I had a cancellation about twenty minutes ago and my next appointment isn’t for another two hours.”

“Thank you,” I say, physically feeling relief as I step over the threshold. I take a comfortable chair, yet remain ridged in my seat, not knowing what to expect from this impromptu session.

George moves to sit across from me, his brow deeply troubled at the body language just opposite him. “What’s going on?”

My hands are clasped in my lap, my thumb scratching the surface of the opposite hand. “Elliot came into the squad room today...”

“Did Hunter deal with him?”

“No. Hunter took one of our new guys to see to a case. I was left to be in the office myself with Sergeant Nate Barnes, and Detectives Melanie Sorenson and Violette Fairfax,” I reply quickly, easily.

“What was Elliot’s business there?”

“Wanted to tell me about the new developments on the Tony Moreno case,” I say softly. “I’m going to meet with Sonya Paxton soon to go over my testimony, which is needed...”

“And what happened?”

I sighed. “I stupidly brought up our relationship,” I say. “I didn’t want to—it just came out... I then mentioned our move, Hunter’s and mine, to Westchester and the possibility of having to transfer there, although the department has assured Hunter and me that that won’t be necessary...”

“What did Elliot have to say to that?”

“Suffice it to say he panicked,” I reply. “Before I knew what was going on, he came over to me and grabbed me... Then we were making out like love-struck teenagers and I didn’t know what to do! I pulled away and told him to get back to SVU and I...”

“You...?”

“Went to confession,” I reply. “I’m an atheist, but I was brought up Catholic. I thought that if I went there and if I felt something...”

“Did you?”

I shake my head. “No. I felt nothing. I was numb from the shock of Elliot kissing me but I felt no comfort within the church. It was blind faith that allowed me to find comfort in it when I was a little girl, but times are different. I’ve seen the world for what it is...”

“What do you see?”

“The world frightens me,” I reply. “I’m married, I have three children, we’re getting a house together...” I hunch up my shoulders, wanting to close up walls around myself for protection. “Part of me wonders if I’m supposed to be here, right now. I mean, what if I hadn’t had the...termination?”

“Do you think you’d have been up to raising a child on your own?”

I shake my head again. “No. I would have liked...”

“What?”

I shut my eyes. “I still think I harbor some resentment towards Elliot,” I reply, wondering how I’d gotten there.

“How do you figure?” George asks.

Opening my eyes, I force myself to look at him. “Because I wanted him to choose me,” I say simply.

. . . 

In the weeks that followed, Hunter and I agreed that Edythe could go on her class summer trip. We finished the move and soon were official residents of Westchester and were mutually overjoyed that the Manhattan Homicide Unit didn’t want to get rid of us, and Hunter and I decided to hold onto the penthouse should we ever be working late and need somewhere to crash. What with Edythe away for the summer and Helena taking over the duties for the twins, I knew that time was of the essence with me and Hunter.

In the weeks that followed, I delighted in Edythe’s letters from her school trip and hoped that she was having a wonderful time with all the new friends she had made in her first year at her new school. She returned in the second week of August to Hunter, Donnie, Livi, and I, fully prepared to enjoy the next three weeks off in our new home. Her bedroom had been redecorated per her specifications for her homecoming, and I was delighted when Olivia, Don, Fin, and John showed up to welcome her home. We had a lovely dinner party after that—Helena was perfectly wonderful in the kitchen—and celebrated Edythe’s homecoming, as well as what would happen as the year went on.

As September dawned, I was summoned to Sonya Paxton in an effort to get my testimony down pat. She had sharp, dark eyes and pale brown hair which framed her face. She seemed pleased to see me again and immediately offered me a seat so as we could go over my testimony. She explained that we’d go over it a few times in her office before going to the courtroom to try it out there. She found that doing it this way made it far less intimidating for the trial itself.

“All right, Maggie, I’m going to begin direct-line questioning with you now, if that’s all right.”

“Of course, Sonya,” I reply.

She smiles. “Very good. Now, Lieutenant Grayson, where did you first meet the defendant, Anthony Moreno?”

“It was at a family and friend gathering at his home,” I reply.

“Good, short and simple, and nobody can object to that because video footage and eye witnesses prove it,” Sonya says. “What was your first impression of the defendant, Lieutenant Grayson?”

“He seemed kind, at first, but given his prior history, I thought I’d better be careful,” I reply.

“You’re absolutely right, Maggie, but the damned lawyer will claim you’re being deliberately prejudicial towards his client, and we can’t have that...”

“Don’t tell me that blowhard John Buchanan is representing Moreno?!” I demand, my teeth already setting on edge.

“Of course. He snaps up every high-profile case he can get.”

“Dammit,” I reply.

Sonya raised an eyebrow. “Sounds to me like the two of you have a history, and not a very good one,” she remarks.

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” I reply. “He represented Edythe’s mother’s boyfriend at his trial. Laid into me real thick. Claimed that because I wasn’t a detective that I had no right to question Edythe and obviously had some sort of sick, twisted vendetta against Jack...”

“Did the people counter?” Sonya asked.

I nod. “Of course. Casey Novak countered that because of my degree in criminal law and minor in child psychology that he should back off.”

“Back off?” Sonya asks, obviously tickled. “Really?”

I smirk at that. “Well, in all honesty, later that night, Casey told me where she wanted Buchanan to shove his paycheck,” I reply.

“I’ll bet she did,” Sonya says. “Did she win the outcome?”

I nod. “Yeah, the judge ruled that Buchanan’s objection was unfounded and deliberately seeking to be prejudicial.”

“Too bad she got disbarred,” Sonya remarks, rather passively, looking over some paperwork on her desk. “Now, back to questioning. Were you ever alone with the defendant that evening?”

“Yes,” I reply.

“How did you come to be alone?”

I force myself not to shiver, remembering all that Sonya had told me to do. _Focus on Sonya_ , I told myself over and over again. _John Buchanan does not exist. He’s not staring daggers at you right now_... “He asked if he could give me a tour of his penthouse,” I reply.

“And what happened when you were alone?” Sonya continues.

“I did as I was told to do,” I say.

“Who told you to do this?” asks Sonya.

“Detective Tutuola,” I reply.

“Objection, Your Honor. Hearsay,” Buchanan says.

“Overruled. I’ll allow it.” Judge Elizabeth Donnelly turns towards me. “Tread lightly now, Lieutenant Grayson.”

“Sorry, Your Honor,” I reply. “As part of my duty of being of a specific position as a law enforcement officer, I have to go undercover. I am given instructions on what is and what is not allowed.”

“Would some of these practices be considered controversial?”

I nod. “Definitely.”

“Such as?” she wants to know.

I sigh. “If not entering into a relationship with someone, such as a sexual relationship, would be suspect if you do not do so, you’ve got to enter into said relationship.”

“Very well, Lieutenant Grayson. Now, back to your time with the defendant. Did he say or do anything that you would think to be inappropriate?”

I nod. “Yes. He discussed his habits of child pornography, and when I—or my undercover girl, Candy Mitchell—expressed concern, he claimed that I was ‘too old’ and that he preferred girls who hadn’t...entered puberty...”

“You must have felt disgusted,” Sonya puts in.

“Your Honor, is there a question here?” John Buchanan asks.

“Ms. Paxton?” Judge Donnelly says.

“Sorry, Your Honor, I’ll rephrase. Lieutenant Grayson, were you or were you not disgusted by the words uttered by Anthony Moreno?”

“Most definitely,” I reply. “I’m sick recalling it now.”

“And did the defendant hold a gun on you after Detective Olivia Benson, Detective Odafin Tutuola, and other members of SVU, Homicide, and other NYPD officials surrounded you?”

I nod. “Yes. When Detective Benson told him to back off away from me, Moreno claimed that no crime had been committed. Detective Benson ordered Moreno cuffed and, when he was doing so, he knocked out the arresting officer and held me at gun point.”

“What happened during his holding you?” Sonya asked.

“He pistol whipped me—I don’t know if it was an accident or on purpose,” I reply, shifting uncomfortably in my chair. “Detective Benson ordered the defendant to drop his gun and to let me go, but he refused.”

“All right,” Sonya says. “Then what happened?”

“He figured out that I was a cop,” I reply. “I attempted to tell everyone that the defendant wasn’t going to rape me...”

“You reverted back to your Candace Mitchell persona?”

“Objection. Leading,” Buchanan puts in.

“Sustained,” Judge Donnelly replies, sounding impatient; I hoped it was with Buchanan. “No leading the witness, Ms. Paxton.”

“I apologize, Your Honor. Lieutenant Grayson, did you or did you not revert back to your persona of Candace Mitchell?”

I nod. “I did.”

“And why did you do so?”

“Because I wanted to protect my fellow officers,” I reply. “I didn’t want anything to happen to them.”

“And what did you want to happen?”

“The arrest of Anthony Moreno,” I reply.

“What happened after you attempted to dissuade him from shooting you and all of your fellow officers?”

“In so many words, I told him to be a man and to shoot me. I knew that if he shot me then Detective Benson would have more cause to shoot him.”

“Were you shot that night, Lieutenant Grayson?”

“Yes.”

“And what events led up to that?”

“Detective Benson shot the defendant in the knee cap and because of him holding the gun so tightly—the trigger, rather—it went off in his hand. I was shot in the abdomen, but thankfully no ribs are broken.”

“Do you have a scar?” asks Sonya.

“Yes. The doctors claimed that the bullet didn’t go deep enough to get anything vital but that scar tissue would never fully heal.”

“Would you be willing to stand and show us?”

“Objection, Your Honor! Ms. Paxton is attempting to allow Lieutenant Grayson to sway the jury by showing a little skin!”

“Objection overruled,” Judge Donnelly says, glaring at Buchanan. “You watch yourself, John. This is not the Dark Ages where men will openly drool at women who show a little skin and not be prosecuted for it.” She turns to me then, her dark eyes patient. “Show the scar, please, Lieutenant Grayson.”

I get to my feet, unbuttoning the jacket of my suit and taking it off, before lifting up my camisole and folding it just before my bra ends so as not to show off more skin than necessary. The scar is about an inch and a half long, and the skin around it and inside it is concaved and darker than the rest of my pale skin. It doesn’t hurt much anymore, except on those rare days on the job when I have to make an effort to catch a suspect on foot, twist my ankle, and fall onto my stomach. I remember having to have all my pregnancies monitored, and a special cream I had to rub onto it in preparation for my expanding stomach.

“You can put your shirt down now, Lieutenant Grayson,” Judge Donnelly says after about thirty seconds.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” I reply, pulling it down, straightening the rest of my clothes, and sitting down.

“Were the doctors able to remove every bit of the bullet?” Sonya asks, obviously sensitive to my plight.

“No,” I reply. “There was some that went too deep to ever get out.”

“I’m very sorry you had to go through that, Lieutenant Grayson,” Sonya says, turning to look up at Judge Donnelly. “Nothing further,” she says, turning and walking back to her desk, and I am suddenly at the mercy of Buchanan, who gets to his feet, buttoning his expensive suit jacket in the same movement.

“That was a very good story, Lieutenant Grayson. Do you often embellish when you’re telling stories about upstanding citizens?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Sonya says immediately, getting to her feet and looking imploringly up at Elizabeth Donnelly.

“You’re right, Ms. Paxton. Mr. Buchanan, one more obscene comment like that and I’ll hold you in contempt.”

“Forgive me, Your Honor,” Buchanan says, slithering closer to me—although, his movements are more like lumbering. “Is it true that you met Anthony Moreno because of one of his gang members, Ryder Phelps?”

“I was told that was his name, yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ryder Phelps had me convinced that he was Special Agent Edward Stewart of Scotland Yard,” I reply. “He showed me his identification.”

“I see. Tell me... Is it true that Detective Tutuola warned you against getting into a relationship with him?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“But you did anyway?”

“Candace Mitchell did, I didn’t.”

“Of course you didn’t, because, at the time, you were involved with then-Sergeant Hunter Grayson.”

“Your Honor, is there a question?” Sonya says.

“Withdrawn,” Buchanan says. “Did you enter a relationship with Ryder Phelps during your undercover operation?”

“Again, _Candace Mitchell_ entered into a relationship with him, _not_ me.”

“Fine, fine. It was against Detective Tutuola’s advice?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Do you think it was because Detective Tutuola has long-harbored romantic feelings towards you?”

I feel myself go white. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Mr. Buchanan, but I assure you, ever since we’ve been undercover, Detective Odafin Tutuola has treated me like a daughter.”

“So he gets off on the fantasy of you being his daughter?”

“Your Honor!” Sonya yells, angered.

“Council approach,” Judge Donnelly says, and I’m left to sit there by myself, exposed to the court, Anthony Moreno staring at me as Sonya and John Buchanan are made to go up to the judge like she’s the principal and they’ve been involved in some playground brawl.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull, Mr. Buchanan, but we’ve established the fact that Lieutenant Margaret Grayson is a reliable witness. Now if you can’t accept that, I’ll recommend to have you disbarred. You’re on thin ice, mister. One more outburst like that, and I’ll censure you.”

“I apologize, Your Honor.”

“Get back to your witness,” she says, glaring at him.

“Do you think you were biased against my client because of the fact that your now-daughter named him as another man who had been abusing her?”

“Your Honor...” Sonya begins.

“No,” I say, holding up my hand. “I want to answer.”

“The floor is yours, Lieutenant Grayson,” Judge Donnelly replies.

I turn and face Buchanan then, letting him know that I am no longer afraid of him or his wily ways. “Sir, I think that _anyone_ would feel a bias against someone who potentially harmed their children. Yes, I was biased against him from the get-go. I immediately signed onto the project of going undercover as soon as Detective Benson suggested it. I wanted to help bring down a horrible man and to drive his empire into the ground. I took a known pedophile, suspected rapist and murderer, and mobster off the street. I’m a cop; it’s my job. You’re defending Anthony Moreno today, because it is your job. However, I’m quite sure Mr. Moreno never held a gun to your throat, and forced you to relive your life as it flashed before your eyes.”

“I know all the men you had a history with were there when you were shot,” he goes on, almost as if I’d barely spoken. “Is it true that you were in a relationship with Detective Elliot Stabler before you began dating now-Captain Hunter Grayson, and were actually pregnant with that detective’s child at one time, even though you got rid of it, as is your right?”

“Your Honor!” Sonya says.

“Consider yourself censured, Mr. Buchanan,” Judge Donnelly says. “You are no longer allowed to question this witness. Lieutenant Grayson, you may step down now. You don’t need to come back unless called by Ms. Paxton—Mr. Buchanan can no longer question you in this case.”

“Your Honor, I think you should recuse yourself,” Buchanan says then.

Judge Donnelly raises her eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I have other questions for this witness...”

“Well, unfortunately, you won’t be able to answer them. I have authority here, Mr. Buchanan, and you’ll not question her. You’re excused, Lieutenant Grayson,” she says, with an apologetic look. “Would you like an escort out of here?” she asks me, attempting to keep things calm.

“I’ve got it, Your Honor,” Olivia says, getting to her feet.

“Me, too,” Fin says, getting up with her.

“Good,” she says, waving her hand in our direction to get us to move along and leave the courtroom.

I quickly exit the witness box, making my way past Buchanan and Moreno, giving Sonya a quick smile before walking past the gallery. We make our way out of the courtroom and down the corridor, and towards the elevators. We manage to get one where it is just us, and then we are walking out of the main hallway and outside onto the stone steps. It was in the early days of October, and the fall chill had picked up considerably, so much so that Fin put on his beanie and pulled his leather jacket tighter, while Olivia and I pulled our goose-down-filled jackets around ourselves and pulled their hoods up.

“No reporters, thank god,” I mutter as we make our way down the stairs; I imagine walking down these in heels during a snowfall, knowing how easily people could snap their necks.

“Not yet,” Fin replies.

“There will be when the trial’s over,” Olivia says.

I shudder. “I hate that man...”

Olivia laughs. “He’s our least favorite attorney over at SVU...”

“Yeah. Once he gets into the room, the ADA has to have a deal mixed up as a Class-E misdemeanor...”

“Meaning no jail time?” I ask.

“Exactly,” Olivia says. “Plus, he’s even haggled with us to get their records expunged after a probationary period of five years...”

“He had no right to go after you like that,” Fin says defensively. “Your relationship with you and Elliot is your business...”

“Not anymore,” I mutter.

“How do you figure?” Olivia asks.

I sigh. “Kathy didn’t know, I don’t think. At least, Elliot never let on that he told her anything. The only woman he copped to seeing while they were separated was Dani Beck.”

“Hated her,” Olivia says. We make our way down the leaf-strewn sidewalk and go towards a parking lot, where she is parked.

“Went to confession for the first time in years,” I say as Fin offers me the passenger seat as I slip inside.

“Why?” Fin wants to know, getting into the seat behind me.

“Elliot came to see me a few weeks back in order to deliver a message,” I reply as Olivia gets behind the wheel.

“Why didn’t someone call you?” Olivia asks.

“Something tells me that Elliot wanted to see me,” I reply. “Had to get a psych evaluation the last time I came into the squad room. George examined me while Don watched—I didn’t mind. But Elliot went in there while I was being psyched out and listened in...”

“As if that isn’t reckless at all,” Fin says.

I sigh. “I told him when he came to deliver the message that I knew that he’d listened in. Don told me...”

“What was the message?” Olivia wants to know.

“That Sonya wanted to see me about my testimony.”

“What happened?” Fin asks.

I sigh, and then, I don’t know... Maybe it was all the stress over my feelings for Elliot, the guilt over not telling Hunter about it, or the fact that Buchanan had let slip—deliberately—a deep dark secret about me that I came undone. I let out a sob and put my head into my hands, breaking down completely and sobbing. I had no concept of time; all I was aware of was Olivia’s soft voice and Fin’s comforting hand on my shoulder. Olivia soon pulled over at some deserted wooded area, and as I lifted my face, I saw that the sign said Inwood Hill Park.

I immediately opened the car door and proceeded to walk in the woods, Olivia and Fin following me. We disappear into the foliage onto one of the trails; they are deserted, because almost everyone who walks here comes with their children or jogs in the morning—at least, that’s what I’d been told. When my legs can’t carry me anymore, I lean up against a rock wall and sigh, staring up at the endless sky, which the evergreens around us are threatening to touch.

“Want to talk?” Olivia asks, gently.

“You can talk to us, you know,” Fin says.

I sigh. “I know that.” I stuff my hands into my pockets. “I told Elliot about our move to Westchester—just making conversation, you know. He freaked when I said that Hunter and I were fearful that we’d have to leave our jobs here and join the force up there...”

“What’d he do?” Fin asks.

“He kissed me,” I reply.

Olivia raises his eyebrows. “Wow...”

“What’s wrong with that?” Fin wants to know. “You two shared history. But now you’re married to Hunter...” He inspects my face then, concern in his dark eyes. “I don’t think you’re telling us everything...”

I lower my eyes. “That’s because I’m not...”

“You don’t have to, Maggie,” Olivia assures me quickly. “This is just a friendly conversation.”

“Yeah, we won’t go all John Buchanan on you,” Fin says.

I sigh. “I have to tell someone, other than a random priest or George...”

“You talked to George about this?” Olivia asks.

I nod. “Yeah. After the priest. I couldn’t stand just having a religious opinion, you know? I wanted a non-judgmental option, too...”

“What’d the doctor say?” Fin asks.

I sigh again. “He said that I was only human and that it’s only natural for emotions to get the better of me...”

“Emotions?” Fin asks, looking at Olivia.

“Maggie?” Olivia asks, stepping forward. “What are you talking about?”

I sigh. “I think I still love Elliot,” I reply, feeling immediately guilty for seeing Olivia’s look of shock and Fin’s look of dismay. Leaning back up against the great rock behind me, I feel their disappointment wash over me as I feel my tears turning to frost upon my cheeks.


	10. The Pieces Come Together

I thank Olivia for returning me to the squad room and find myself missing the simpler days when I was just a detective, before Hunter and I ever got involved. I remembered my single life—after Elliot had gotten back together with Kathy—and before I had my children. Edythe was always a possibility; I remembered the overwhelming feeling that had come over me the moment that she told me of her plight back when I was just Officer Maggie Holbrook and dating Elliot; I instantly remembered the urge to keep her safe, and knew then that my maternal instincts had kicked in. As I walk the halls of the Homicide Unit, I buy a bottle of water from the machine and head back into the squad room; Nate immediately gets to his feet, concern in his eyes.

“Everything okay?” I ask, finding myself gripping the bottle in a brief moment of anticipation. “We get a new case?”

Nate shakes his head. “No, Hunter took Ford with him on the latest one and left me in charge,” he replies. “But now that you’re back...”

I nod. “Right. Okay.” I uncap the water and take a couple of sips, regarding Nate, who still looks worried. “What’s up? Be straight with me, Nate, please. Court was really difficult...”

“That’s the thing...”

“What is?” I ask, taking off my coat, hat, and scarf and draping them all over my arm. “You’re not making sense...”

He sighs. “In your office...”

Immediately, my hackles go up. _Shit_ , I think. _Who would it be_? _Tucker_? _The Deputy Commissioner about professional conduct_?! “Let me have it, Nate. Who’s in there?”

“Cragen,” he replies. “Don Cragen.”

 _The DNA_ , I think immediately, thanking Nate and making my way over towards my office, with the words LIEUTENANT MARGARET GRAYSON stamped to the door in black matte letters. Opening the door, Don gets to his feet and gives me a kind smile as I hang up my outside clothes and close the door behind me. Letting out a sigh, I cross the room and put my arms around him.

“Hi,” I say softly.

He pats my back affectionately. “Liv called. Tough day?”

“You can’t imagine,” I reply, pulling away from him and moving to go around my desk, all my joints aching simultaneously. Perching in the chair and setting my water bottle down in front of me, I say softly, “John Buchanan is an animal. How he managed to attract a wife, I’ll never know...”

“I heard he was censured today by Donnelly,” Don replies, sitting back down in the chair he’d been occupying. “Was that during when he was attempting to dig you into a hole during cross?”

“Yeah,” I reply, sipping my water.

“What happened?”

I swallow, forcing myself not to choke at the question. “My relationship with Elliot was brought up...”

“That’s completely irrelevant...”

“You’re telling me,” I reply. “He even brought up the...termination,” I say softly, shuddering at that. “Thankfully Donnelly stopped him and Olivia and Fin were there to swoop in and get me out of there...”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there...”

“Don’t be,” I reply. “You have a squad to take care of. So do I.”

He sighs. “The DNA tests came back...”

I immediately lean forward. “Yes?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “I’m so sorry—I’m not your biological father, although I would have loved to have been. I would be proud to be your father, Maggie, but it’s not the case.”

I nod. “Yeah, I get that. I mean, unless I looked completely like this woman who claimed to be my mother...”

Don laughed. “Hey! Can’t help it if you don’t look like me!”

I returned his laugh. “Yes. Well. I don’t have an abnormally large forehead,” I reply wryly.

“You’re very fortunate you’re not part of my squad right now,” Don replies, doing his best to keep from laughing.

I sigh a little at this sudden turn of events. “At least I have something in you that I only really have in one other person—Fin. You’re both like fathers to me, and I’d do nothing to change that.”

“I’m glad,” he replies, giving me a kind hearted smile. “I heard Buchanan said something about Fin...”

I nodded. “He inferred that Fin and I got off to the fantasy of being in a father/daughter sexual relationship...”

“That’s a new low, even for Buchanan,” Don says, shaking his head. “I know that Fin would never act inappropriately towards you.”

“He’s been extremely protective ever since we went under together,” I reply. “He never wanted me to be alone with Ryder—that’s how protective he was. I know it could sound obsessive or something to some people, Don, but Fin and I never had any romantic inclinations whatsoever.”

He nods. “I know. You don’t have to convince me.”

“I know I don’t. It’s just that...”

“What?”

“Elliot came to deliver the news to me about Paxton preparing me for court,” I reply, feeling uneasy.

“Yes, I sent him. I would have sent Olivia or Fin, but they were preoccupied outside the squad room. John was nursing a cold that particular afternoon, and I would have sent him...”

“Don, really, you don’t have to explain yourself... It’s just that Elliot stirred up some old feelings...”

“What did he do?” Don asks, wary.

I sigh at that, feeling like a teenager caught in a lie. “We kissed,” I reply. “He initiated it, but I didn’t stop him until...”

“Until it was too late,” he replies, nodding. “Well, I can’t tell you what to do here, Maggie, but I will anyhow. Be careful. He’s back with Kathy now and what with your affair being broadcasted in the courtroom this afternoon, all I can say is that there’s bound to be backlash.”

“You’re right,” I reply, taking another sip of water. “But I’m ready, Don. I’m ready and waiting.”

. . .

Hunter comes to see me after he’s finished with investigative work later on that evening; he enters my office and embraces me, not letting me go until I just begin to ease out of his arms. He places his forehead against mine, his arms still wrapped around my waist and shakes his head. “John Buchanan is now on my hit list,” he tells me seriously.

I raise my eyebrows. “You have one of those?”

He nods. “Of course. A fictitious one, of course, but yeah, I do.”

I sigh ever so slightly, feeling comforted in his embrace. “Well, let’s just say that he acted inappropriately,” I reply, letting him go and perching on the edge of my desk as I shake my head. “Don came to see me...”

“Everything okay?”

“Yes and no,” I say. “He came in regards to the DNA test.” I wait for Hunter to say something, but he merely nods, waiting for me to continue. “He’s not my father; I guess I just have to keep looking...”

Hunter nods. “You prepared yourself for the possibility, didn’t you?”

I find my eyebrows going together. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

He shakes his head. “No reason.” He leans against the wall and shakes his head at me, almost as if he’s contemplating something but thinks better of it.

“What?”

“You would tell me if you were keeping something from me, wouldn’t you?”

His question hangs there, almost as if in a balance, and I find that I desperately want to scream. What had I done? I was the one who had demanded that there be no secrets between us in our wedding vows... Hadn’t I? I found then that I was not the same person who had married Hunter Grayson, and I found as if I was losing myself in this wide, wide world of crimes...

“Yes, of course,” I reply, the trap snapping shut. _Not yet, not yet_... “Honesty is the best policy for any marriage.”

“Yeah, I get that, but...”

“Captain, Lieutenant!” Nate says, bursting into my office then. “Tony Moreno has been found dead in his cell!”

My eyes nearly pop. “Bastard,” I whisper. “Death by hanging... We haven’t employed that method of execution in...”

“A hundred and twenty years, give or take,” Hunter says, following Nate into the squad room, where he and the rest of the detectives have been watching the live news footage of it on our flat screen. “Turn it up,” Hunter tells Nate as I come up behind him. “Dammit,” he says, shaking his head.

“Reporting live from The Supreme Court of New York, I’m Nancy Grace,” says the eponymous newswoman. “Here with me is the attorney for now-deceased rumored mob boss, Anthony ‘Tony’ Moreno. Mr. Buchanan, what can you tell us about your client?”

“Well, Nancy, let me be the first to tell you that Mr. Moreno would want his legacy to go out with a bang. Just before I left his cell earlier this afternoon—where the poor man was held without bail during the trial—he told me that he intended to change his plea from ‘not guilty’ to ‘guilty’.”

“Guilty conscience?” Nancy Grace asks him. “Or did he simply with to change his plea in order to avoid life imprisonment?”

“I believe wholeheartedly that his conscience was guilty,” Buchanan replies. “I know I speak for everyone when I say that mistakes were made all around with this case and I know that Mr. Moreno would have wanted to one day leave prison and devote his time to the humanitarian work he was working on.”

“Such as?” Nancy Grace questions.

“He was considering funding an orphanage,” John Buchanan replies. “I think it would have been an admirable thing to do...”

“The sick bastard wanted more victims,” I mutter.

“You said just now that mistakes were made all around with this case, Mr. Buchanan,” Nancy Grace continues. “Were they solely resting on the shoulders of Mr. Moreno?”

“No, the most damning mistake of all were several factors,” he replies. “Including, but not limited to, Judge Elizabeth Donnelly, due to blatant disregard. The judge refused to allow me to continue questioning Lieutenant Margaret Grayson, whose answers would have cast reasonable doubt upon the jury, thus getting the ‘not guilty due to diminished capacity’ verdict we were going for. But, what can you do, Nancy? My client was so overcome with grief that he took the law into his own hands and did just what New York’s Finest wanted done to him—the death penalty, which he gave to himself since we do not employ such methods to mere rapists anymore...”

“Turn it off,” I say, speaking through my teeth; I am gripping the edges of one of the desks separating me from the flat screen, and I find I am shaking. I could not believe what the son of a bitch had done now—he had singlehandedly blamed me and Judge Donnelly for the self-induced execution of Tony Moreno.

I wanted to scream, but no sound came out; making my way out of the squad room, I go into my office and make a grab for my hat, coat, and scarf before heading out of there and making my way down the hall. I press the elevator button and the chrome double doors open, and I step into the space, pressing the button for the ground floor as I hurry to get my outer layers on me as I step from the elevator and into the cold outdoors. Looking up, snow begins to fall around me, but I cannot delight in it. Ignoring the sounds of children laughing around me, I find I am at a loss for what to do. Finally, I know what to do and hail a cab, asking it to take me to SVU, for some much-needed friendly voices.

. . . 

The fall leaves soon wash down the storm drains entirely and we are faced with the customary New York snow. In the second week of December, Edythe is excused from classes at her school until the first week of January; she tells us that many of her friends and classmates are going skiing, but informs us that she doesn’t want to partake in that sort of thing. She is only twelve years old and is officially the youngest in her eighth grade class, yet she is already preparing for her future. She is unsure if she wants to go to medical school or law school, but Hunter and I tell her that she can do whatever she sets her mind to.

Hunter goes to the Captain Benefit Dinner in the third week of December, and Edythe is permitted to spend the night at a friends’ house—a friend whose family did not, apparently, go on a ski trip. The twins, almost a year old, have been entrusted to Derrick and Esmerelda for the evening, who live across town, while Helena has gone out with her boyfriend, Sebastian, a lovely young man who is currently in medical school to become an oncologist. Given the fact that I have a rare night alone, I decide to order in and pop in a movie, when suddenly there is a knock upon my front door.

Pulling on a sweater, I cross towards the door and, upon opening it, see Olivia, Don, Fin, and John standing on my porch. I find myself throwing my head back and laughing in glee and immediately invite them inside. Don has brought a bottle of my favorite merlot, while Olivia has brought a good-sized chicken; John has brought some mashed potatoes and a Caesar salad, and Fin has brought a decadent-looking chocolate cake. We all pile into the dining room and make an effort to set the table appropriately and light a pair of candles.

“What brings you to my doorstep?” I ask then, eying them all. “I’m quite surprised at you, Don...”

“Why?” he asks, curious.

“Well, it’s just that tonight is the night of the Captain’s Benefit Dinner,” I reply, giving him a smile from across the table. “I would’ve thought an SVU Captain would be invited to such things... Are you not really a benefit dinner type?” I ask him, genuinely curious.

“Benefit dinner?” Olivia asks, turning to Don.

“You never told us about that, Captain,” Fin puts in.

“And I would’ve thought that due to our closeness all these years would have warranted such topics of discussion,” John says.

“I’ve never heard of a benefits dinner specifically for captains,” Don says, and seems genuinely confused.

I let out an awkward laugh, quickly filling up my glass of wine further. “Maybe I just heard him wrong or something,” I say, waving it away. “Tell me, Fin. Do you and Ken have any special Christmas plans?”

Don, Fin, and John leave when ten o’clock approaches, but Olivia remains, helping me wash some of the dinner dishes. We continue chatting as I throw the linens into the washing machine—a few drops of merlot may have dropped onto them—and then we go into the living room. Sitting at opposite ends of the couch, we make small talk for a time before Olivia sighs.

“I know you pretty well, Maggie...”

I snort ever so slightly. “Yeah. We go back to the time when I was an insecure teenager... Now here I am, twenty-five years old.” I shake my head. “Twenty-five years old, married, three kids, this beautiful house...” I gently lower my head and lay it down upon my palm. “I think I’ve taken it all for granted, Liv...”

“What do you mean?”

“The signs were all there, I can see that now, but maybe I was fooling myself into thinking that Hunter was a better version of all the men that I’ve found myself in relationships with, time and time again...”

“Maggie?”

I raise my eyes upwards, at the ceiling, feeling the tears threatening to fall. “I just thought if we didn’t get really personal these last few weeks that I could just forget that this all was happening...”

“What’s wrong, Maggie?” Olivia asks, concerned.

“I really screwed the pooch on this one, Liv,” I reply, shaking my head. “I rushed into things with Hunter...”

“Maggie...”

“...and now it’s bitten me in the ass down the line,” I say, shaking my head. “All I wanted was to be a good wife, mother, and cop, but apparently that was too, too much to ask for—or even want,” I say, shivering as I allow the tears to fall. “Do you know that I originally got with Hunter— ‘got with’ as in had sex with—to get over Elliot?” I whisper, lowering my eyes to meet hers. “I’ll never love anyone like I love him, Liv. Never have, never will...”

“Maggie,” Olivia says, moving towards me and taking my hands. “I sense that you blame yourself for what happened with how things ended between you and with Elliot. Don’t think that way. Don’t _ever_ think that way. Elliot was in a position of authority, and you were...”

“ _Don’t_ say I was a vulnerable girl,” I say, pulling my hands away from her grip. “I don’t want to hear that! I _loved_ him, Liv. I loved him so much...”

“I understand that, Maggie, I do,” she says softly to me. “But what you have to understand is the fact that the moment Elliot decided to...”

“Act like a teenager and sleep with Kathy?” I demand, sharply, jumping to my feet and moving to pace across the room. “Yeah. I still hold plenty of resentment towards him for that little shenanigan. Jesus,” I whisper, running my hands through my hair and shaking my head. “Now that Hunter’s aware of said resentment now he’s gone and...”

“What?” Olivia asks.

I turn and look at her, shaking my head at her. “He’s been so distant with me lately, Liv,” I reply, my voice breaking. “And my confusion over Elliot sure as hell hasn’t helped the situation... Is it even possible to be in love with two men?”

“Just because it hasn’t happened personally to me, Maggie, doesn’t mean that it’s impossible,” Olivia tells me gently. “Now, how has Hunter been acting distant towards you? Tell me.”

“We don’t talk,” I reply. “We-we’ve been having different shifts ever since the Tony Moreno trial. I’ll come home, he’s asleep or he’ll come home and I’m rushing out the door...”

“Have you considered time off?”

“Then we’d have to leave the squad with Nate in charge... Don’t get me wrong, he’s a competent sergeant, Liv, but he’s just not ready to take over command for a considerable amount of time...”

“You could get an interim captain and lieutenant, you know,” she puts in. “Other squads do it all the time...”

I shrug and shake my head. “That’s always risky. They could have backgrounds in Narcotics or Hostage Negotiations. Each squad, as you well know, does a very different, very specific kind of training. If they mix and match things, the whole squad could go to hell...”

“And what about your marriage?” Olivia asks, firmly. “You don’t want your marriage going to hell, do you?”

“It’s not...”

“Maggie, open your eyes!” she says, getting to her feet. “Neither of you are communicating, you never get any time together... It’s a wonder that Edythe and the twins aren’t completely screwed up!”

I turn and look at her full in the face then, my mouth hanging open. Quickly snapping it shut, I shake my head at her. “I can’t believe you just said all that to me,” I whisper.

“Maggie...”

“No. No-no, I think I need to be alone...”

“Maggie...”

“Please, Liv. No.” I deliberately don’t look at her as I hand over her coat and make my way over towards the front door. Opening it, I motion my hand back and forth between the foyer and outside in the snow. “Goodnight, Olivia,” I say, my voice firm, so as she knows full well the subject is closed.

. . .

It took a very long time for Olivia and I to get back on the friendship track—many months, to be exact. In January, Hunter suggested that we take a week off together, but we mainly stayed around the house avoiding one another. By Valentine’s Day, we are celebrating Edythe’s thirteenth birthday party and the very real notion that she is officially due to start high school the following September, along with the fact that she is debuting her first crush, Jacob Hastings, a boy from an elite family with a congressman father and a high-powered attorney mother. By March, the twins—now one-year-old—got the chicken pox and we had to work around the clock in shifts to make sure none of us got it.

Spring dawned and there was no change in my relationship with my husband. I tried my best—successfully, mind you—to drown myself in paperwork of Homicide cold cases. I come across a new one after getting rid of our backlog of cold cases and discover that SVU needs this particular weapon in order to close a case they’ve been working on. I manage to send Nate over to them to deliver the information of this particular gun, which had a couple of bodies on it. When I don’t hear anything back, I think nothing of it.

A few weeks later, at the end of May, I am in charge of the squad when Hunter and Ford, now his established partner, are out attempting to solve what’s happening with a new mass murderer case. Sorenson is in the squad room when suddenly Nate and Fairfax enter, Nate hauling in a disheveled-looking man with gang tattoos in by the arm. I find myself raising an eyebrow as I leave the captains’ office and make my way to the center of the room.

“Who we got here?” I ask.

“Jason Milo, Lieutenant,” Nate tells me.

“Caught this one selling a gun to a minor,” Fairfax tells me.

“Get him into a room,” I say, nodding for Sorenson to haul him in—hey, she’s stronger than she looks—so as Nate can talk to me. “What do we got? No holding back, now, you hear, Nate?”

“Just said that he sold it to a Jenna Fox...” Nate said, shaking his head.

At once, my blood ran cold—call it women’s intuition; to this day, I’ll never understand it. “That’s SVU’s latest case... Why...?” At once, I secure my gun to the belt at my waist, telling Nate to, “Watch the squad!” as I haul ass out of there. I run downstairs and bolt out the front doors, climbing into a cab and begging the man, almost breathlessly, to take me to the SVU squad room. We tear across town and city blocks and I throw some cash his way and dash up the front steps of the SVU building, up the stairs and in the direction of the squad room, where I see things looking normal, until all hell breaks loose.

“Jenna, no!” I hear Olivia scream.

I feel myself propelling towards the fray—I don’t want anyone else to be hurt. As the bullets rain down, I crouch—I haven’t been seen yet.

“Put the gun down, Jenna,” he urges her.

Peering next to me, I can see Olivia bent over Sister Peg, a woman who has helped them with many cases. She’s bleeding pretty bad, and Olivia looks shocked standing over her.

“Just put the gun down,” Elliot tries again.

Jenna proceeds to lower it, when low-life Eddie Skinner decides to open his ugly mouth one more time.

“I should’ve killed you with your mother!” he yells.

Jenna, clearly traumatized, raises the gun again and shoots Skinner, point-blank, and Elliot raises his gun, and it fires, but no bullet comes. Taking my chance, I fire the gun myself, and Jenna goes down. Due to the trajectory, one could make the case for Elliot shooting Jenna himself.

“No!” Olivia screams as both of their bodies go down.

I am up the moment she shoots Skinner; what I don’t realize is that due to the force of her shot, the bullet has gone through him, hit the wall, gone out from between the cell door and hit me. My knees buckle as Elliot rushes to Jenna’s side, cradling her as she bleeds out, telling him that getting the gun was easy. Elliot then turns to look at Olivia as the survivors attempt to understand what went on as Jenna dies in Elliot’s arms.

Lowering my eyes, I can see the blood leaking from between my fingers, and I feel as if I am floating. I fall backwards then, and it is my hair which gives me away, pluming out around my head like a flag. I turn and look at everyone around me, and vow that I will not die—not today. I breathe in, loudly, so as someone’s attention will be given to me...

“No!” Elliot screams then, and nearly drops Jenna, rushing over to my side and taking me into his arms. “Maggie... Maggie, no...”

“Maggie?!” Olivia cries in disbelief, setting down the body of Sister Peg more gently and swoops in. “Maggie...”

I force myself to move my hands upwards to attempt to stop the bleeding, which proves difficult. “Elliot,” I find myself whispering.

Olivia then gets on her walkie to report the shooting, leaving me and Elliot relatively alone. “SVU to Central, I need a bus immediately. 10-13, we have an officer down. I repeat—we have an officer down! This is Detective Olivia Benson, Badge Number 4015. The officer in question is Lieutenant Margaret Grayson of Manhattan Homicide...”

“Maggie, why are you here? You shouldn’t have been here,” Elliot says, the tears coming out of his eyes very real.

“We caught your guy—the guy who sold Jenna the gun,” I whisper, my breaths quick and raspy. “Coughed up a name to my sergeant—said he sold the gun to Jenna on the street... We got him, Elliot...”

“Yes, but why are you...?”

“I knew she’d come here,” I reply. “Can’t... Can’t explain it, really...” I shrug a little. “I just know that if someone ever killed my mother...”

“I thought you didn’t get along with your mother...”

I laugh a little at that. “Not really, no. Realistically speaking, though, she is my mother, and I know I’d do something drastic... She wasn’t in her right mind, Elliot...”

“Was I?”

“What?”

“Was I in my right mind when I pulled the trigger?”

I smile at him—my first genuine smile at him since forever. “You were doing your job,” I reply. “Just like you were when you decided to get back with Kathy...”

“Maggie...”

“No, listen. I’ve given it a lot of thought. I get it. I’m a mother now, and I’ve somehow managed to put everything into perspective. You put your kids first above your own happiness—I get it. I... I can do it now, Elliot. I can let you go and be a good wife and mother to Hunter and our children...”

“Maggie, don’t...”

“Elliot, please, listen. Take to heart that one part of me will always love you, and that you were my first love... That’s why, I did it...”

“What?” he asks, confused.

I raise my eyes to his. “You’ll find gun residue on my hands,” I whisper.

“Maggie, what are you...?”

“I shot Jenna Fox. I killed Jenna Fox,” I whisper to him. “As soon as I recover, I’ll tell them everything,” I whisper, smiling up at him. I caress his face as the elevator doors open and a stretcher is brought out for me to be taken to Mercy General Hospital. “See you on the other side,” I whisper as I’m hauled up upon it and am taken away from the SVU squad room.

. . .

The bullet just missed my heart and all other major arteries and I’m cleared after a two-week hospital stay. I am encouraged by Hunter to take some time off so Edythe, the twins, Helena, and I take off for the rest of the summer to Disney World, much to Edythe’s joy. After getting a generous tan, too many souvenirs, and memories to last a lifetime, we return to New York and to our normal lives, just in time for Edythe to start high school. I go to the SVU squad room and tap on Don’s door, and he regards me with a sad smile.

“Maggie,” he says, embracing me. “You look good.”

I smile up at him. “Thank you. Vacations can do wonders if you let them.”

“How’s things with Hunter and the kids?”

“Just got back this afternoon. I’m off until the day after tomorrow... Hunter has a long shift so I probably won’t see him until tonight...”

“Well, I’m glad you got the opportunity to get out of your head for a while,” Don replies as I make my way over to the window of his office, leading into the squad room. “I know the gang has...really missed you...”

I spot Olivia, looking tired and worried at her desk while Fin and John look to be discussing something of great importance—but it just could be about the Giants vs. the Yankees. But Elliot’s empty desk across from Olivia glares at me, and I find something shifting inside me then. “Don...”

“Yeah?”

“Where’s Elliot?” I ask, turning back to him.

Don sighs then and shakes his head. “As far as the squad knows, Elliot’s on leave for the time being but...”

“What?” I ask, my voice hard and full of worry.

He sighs. “He’s turned in his walking papers, Maggie,” he replies quietly. He pulls out the top drawer of his desk, where a golden badge with the name DETECTIVE STABLER and Elliot’s gun are. “Gave up his badge and gun...”

“Don...”

“It’s official, Maggie. He’s not coming back.”

“Don...”

“It’s really confidential, Maggie... I...”

I shuffle from foot to foot to keep myself from falling. “Please. Don’t.”

He sighs. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

I sit down opposite him. “No.”

He nods, sitting across from me. “Okay. He got the option to retire with his pension if he admitted to the shooting of Jenna Fox...”

“No!” I cry, springing to my feet and shaking my head at him. “Don, please, don’t tell me he admitted to...”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Don, I...”

“Maggie, I know this must be difficult for you, but...”

“No, you’ve got to listen to me! You’ve got bring him back!” I scream then, tears blinding my vision as I hold out my wrists to him. “ _I_ shot Jenna Fox,” I say, my wrists trembling. “You’ve got to arrest me...”

“Maggie, what are you saying?”

“I was there, Don, you know that. I was shot in the fray, you know that. What you don’t know is that Elliot’s gun jammed and I went on automatic pilot and shot Jenna. I just... I just didn’t want any more senseless violence...”

“But instead you let a veteran detective take the fall for you?”

“You have to believe me, Don, I didn’t ask for that. I told him before the EMT’s took me away that I was guilty. I told him that there would be gunshot residue on my hands...”

“But since Elliot already allocated for Jenna’s death and since any evidence of your gun being the one who shot Jenna, I’m not prepared to go to anyone with this information.”

“Don...”

“Elliot _wanted_ to leave, Maggie.”

“No...”

“Yes.” His voice is firm. “You know what he told me after you were taken to Mercy General and after I called him into my office? Do you?”

“No,” I admit, shaking my head.

“He told me that you admitted to still loving him, and that he was going to do what he should have done a long time ago—choose you.”

“Don...”

“No, listen Maggie. I guess now I can take that to mean that he sacrificed his career for yours.”

I lower my eyes. “I didn’t ask him to do that...”

He sighs. “I know that, Maggie. You would never ask him to do something like that—you’re too smart.” He places a hand upon my shoulder, causing me to look up at him. “You raised ranks excellently as part of New York’s Finest. Despite a few setbacks, I’m very proud of you.”

“Don’t be proud of me,” I say, pulling away from him. “I don’t want you to be proud of me...” I walk towards his door leading into the hallway and turn the knob, heading out the door and down the hall, relieved when he doesn’t even try to follow me. I make my way towards the elevator and click the appropriate button and head back down to the ground floor. Making my way towards the main door, I accidentally collide with a woman around my age with blonde hair and a hefty-looking box in her arms.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” she says with an easy-going Southern accent. “You part of SVU?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No. Homicide.”

“No kidding,” she says with a grin, putting out her hand, which proved difficult due to her box. “Detective Amanda Rollins from the Georgia SVU—just transferred up here. How are ya?”

I shrug. “Fine, I guess. Lieutenant Maggie Grayson, Manhattan Homicide,” I say, allowing myself to take her hand.

“Well, hopefully we’ll see more of you ‘round here,” she says with a grin before going towards the elevator and up to her new job.

I go outside to hail a taxi, shaking my head at this turn of events which is when I see it, clear as day. Across the street is Hunter, walking along with a woman who is a dead ringer for Vivien Leigh in _Gone with the Wind_. I feel my blood run cold as he dips his head to catch every word which comes out of her mouth, and then says something, to which she laughs heartily—a beautiful soprano song. They pair of them stop briefly to embrace and kiss before turning around the corner, continuing their conversation.

“You son of a bitch,” I whisper, shaking. Grabbing my cell out of my pocket, I quickly dial Nate. “Nate, hey, it’s Maggie.”

“Hey, Maggie. How are you? How was the vacation?”

“Great. Fine. Listen, I’m in the neighborhood and I was wondering if Hunter was free for lunch?” I ask him.

“No, sorry, Maggie. He stepped out about a half-hour ago to go over another case with Ford.”

I nod, slipping into a taxi. “Oh, I see. Oh, well. Guess I’ll just head back home then, I guess. Tell Hunter I’ll see him tonight, okay?”

“No problem,” Nate replies, hanging up.

I give the cabby the Westchester address and he seems pleased at the prospect of a big fare. As I settle back against the brown leather seats, I can’t help but wonder who the woman was that Hunter was with. Betrayal ebbs at my senses yet I can’t help but wonder if there’s a deeper meaning to Elliot allocating to shooting and killing Jenna Fox. Resolved to put it out of my mind, I remember the real reason why I wanted to speak to Hunter. Although it was early, I remembered that he and I had made love after my release from the hospital and before I left for Florida with Edythe, Helena, and the twins. I’d taken a test and it had come up positive, and I wanted to let him know as soon as possible that we were going to have another baby, although the timing, as usual, was all wrong.

I press down his number and, as expected, it goes right to voicemail. “Hey, Hunter, it’s me. Maggie. Your wife. Well, I was in the city visiting SVU and Nate said you were on a case with Ford and couldn’t meet me for lunch. Well, I guess I can tell you now that I’m pregnant. We’re going to have another little Grayson running around the house by next year—can you believe it?” I ask, finding myself laughing to myself ever so slightly. “Neither can I... Well, I’m heading back home now—I want to be there so Edythe and I can plan our shopping trip for school. I love you, so much, Hunter. Talk to you—”

“Hey, buddy, watch where you’re going!” the cabby suddenly screams, swerving to the other side of the road. It is then that I see the massive, red semi in front of us, but the cabby is too busy leaning on his horn to care. Glass breaks and smashes all around me, and the cabby is thrown from the vehicle; I’m not so lucky. I hear crunches and snaps and then my head whips backwards and is smashed beneath the roof of the cab.

And then, there was nothing...

—END OF SEASON ONE—


	11. It Ain’t Over ‘til It’s Over

This black void seems endless.

I am floating somewhere between time and space and yet, I feel at peace. The exhaustion and stress that have been building up for the last four months have suddenly ceased to matter. Elliot leaving SVU and New York’s Finest didn’t matter; my marital problems with Hunter didn’t matter; and my lackluster pursuit to find my birth parents didn’t matter either. Deep down, I knew; even then I knew that at some point, I’d wake up...

OLIVIA’S POV

“John!” I say, relieved that I am partnered with him instead of the new recruit, Rollins, that afternoon. “What do we got?”

“One confirmed fatality, at least,” John replies, meeting me in the center of the dismal scene on the freeway. “The cabby didn’t stand a chance.”

“Poor guy,” I reply, not really meaning it because he was a stranger to me. “What else? Anyone else?”

“The guy in the semi is moderate, but he’ll pull through,” John tells me as we manage to navigate our way through the crowd. “And then there was the passenger of the cab...”

“Yeah?” I ask, stepping around some rubble and debris, which is when I see it. I feel my mouth fall open and an alien-like scream come forth from my mouth when I see that, in the center of it all, Maggie is pulled this way and that like a rag doll. I charge forward, hauling bits of broken car off of her, managing not to cut and slice open my hands in the process. “Maggie, Maggie!” I scream, desperate to reach out and shake her before John pulls me back so as the EMT’s can do their job.

“Let them work, Liv,” he says, making an effort to hold tightly to me, despite my thrashing in his arms.

“No, let me go!” I scream.

“Liv, I can’t! You could hurt yourself!” John says firmly. “Come on. I’m sure you can persuade the kind EMT’s to let you ride along...”

I am out of his grip in half an instant as soon as Maggie is strapped to the stretcher and I manage to dart towards the ambulance. They don’t ask to see my badge or anything like that and I perch next to her as I watch them do their work. Her arms are smashed and her legs are broken; she has a couple of broken and fractured ribs as well as one broken shoulder; she will suffer whiplash as well as a broken nose and jaw; her PT will be strenuous, and I know she will need as much love and support as necessary. I give them her blood type and tell them that, since mine is the same, I will donate as much as she needs. They start me on an IV just like Maggie as we whip through the streets of Manhattan, a lump in my throat at what has happened to her.

They charge with her through the ICU, and I am given my own private room to finish dispersing my blood into the provided pint for her. As soon as it is full, a nurse arrives and takes it, bandaging up my arm before leaving me with a pain killer, a cup of juice, and a cookie. I force myself to chew the mediocre cookie and squint at the ultra-sweet sensation of the juice slipping down my throat. I flex my arm ever so slightly and soon manage to get it moving normally again before heading back out into the waiting room.

“Captain,” I say as soon as Don comes into view, and find myself breaking down again as Fin and John enter, but keep my feelings in check when I see Rollins slipping in behind Fin. “Sorry, I just...”

“John told us what happened,” Don replies steadily. “That can’t have been easy for you to see...”

“She seems like a real nice woman,” Rollins says, and we all turn to look at her. “I saw her before she left the building—seemed to have a lot on her mind. I was just happy that she was polite enough to say hi to me...”

“John, why don’t you take Rollins downstairs to get something to drink?” Don asks and John moves to do so, Rollins looking shocked as she is led out of the waiting room.

I knew why Don had done that; Maggie was unfamiliar with Rollins and she wasn’t as close to John as she was to the rest of us. I sigh then, rolling my shoulders and shaking my head. “I donated a pint of blood for her,” I tell the both of them softly. “I just wanted to help out, I...”

“You did the right thing, Liv,” Fin assures me. “And Maggie’ll pull through, you’ll see. She’s a fighter.”

I nod at that, feeling some comfort in Fin’s words. “Yeah. Right. A fighter.”

MAGGIE’S POV

“Let’s get some oxygen on her...”

“Copy that, doctor...”

“Oxygen in place and...”

“Oh, no...”

“We’re losing her...”

“No heartbeat...”

“Let’s bring her back... Clear.”

I find myself soaring then, almost as if I’m connected somehow to a magnet that is threatening to haul me off the ground. Then, again.

“Clear!”

 _For takeoff_?

“Clear!”

“Okay, we got her back...”

 _Back... Back down the track_...

. . .

“How is she, doctor?”

“Normally, I wouldn’t give out this information to you, Detective Benson, but you seem to be very close to the victim...” Shuffling of papers... “She should heal very nicely. We’ve reset the bones everywhere they’ve broken, and her nose has been repaired by a top-notch plastic surgeon... But there’s one thing...”

“What?”

A sigh. “Detective Benson, tell me... Were you aware of Lieutenant Grayson’s pregnancy?”

A gasp. “P-Pregnancy?”

“Yes.”

A second gasp. “Maggie was pregnant...?”

“She was about four months, Detective Benson.”

“Was...?”

“Yes. I’m afraid the accident caused placental abruption which, due to the stress the body underwent from the accident, caused preterm labor.”

“She lost the baby?”

“I’m afraid so, Detective Benson. I’m so sorry...”

. . .

“You didn’t know?”

“No. How could I? I’m her husband and I didn’t know... For god’s sake. What does that say about me? About our relationship?”

“Hunter...”

“No, Olivia, listen—I may be neglectful, but I would _never_...”

“What?”

“Cheat. I would never.”

“I didn’t say you would...”

“...I would _never_ cheat on Maggie. I’m in love with her.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Hunter. Really.”

A sigh; coming from my husband. “Just... Just tell me one thing...”

“What do you want me to tell you?”

“Does she still love him?”

“I’m... I’m sorry, Hunter. I don’t know what...”

“Elliot, for god’s sake!” There is a slam then as he presumably punches the wall beside him. “Does she still love your partner?”

“I can’t answer that one, Hunter.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Hunter...” A note of warning is in Olivia’s voice. “My statement was partly out of loyalty, of course. But you have to realize that the fact remains that I can’t answer that because I don’t even know. I can’t tell you what goes on in her head—when she stopped by the squad room just the other day, she didn’t even come to see me. I can sympathize because of the old wounds...”

“ _Don’t_ mention the shooting. I can’t take that...”

A sigh; it is plaintive, feminine; it can only belong to Olivia. “Here. Take this. He updated his contact information since his move to Oklahoma City.”

Hunter chuckles. “Must be difficult for him... A gay psychiatrist who is opposed to the death penalty to live in a state that has, at one time or another, employed all five methods of execution that our fifty states has to offer.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“What?”

“The death penalty.” Olivia’s voice is deadly serious. “What’s your take on something like that? Something so final?”

Hunter sighs. “I think that certain people just deserve to die,” he answers very honestly. “However, I think that lethal injection should be used nine times out of ten, and that only mass murderers, serial killers, and child killers should be killed, in extreme cases. And then there are those few serial rapists that I’ve seen and heard that you guys at SVU get... I don’t know. If you rape a child, I don’t think you should ever walk again...”

“Have you had this discussion with Maggie?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Another sigh from my husband. “She agrees.”

“How are you feeling about all this?”

“I...” His voice catches in his throat. “Can’t... Can’t lose her, Liv.”

“You won’t have to, Hunter. The doctors are doing everything they can to help her get back on track. You won’t lose her.”

“Never,” he replies.

. . . 

I manage to push the blackness away and ease my eyes open, relief flooding through me as I see that Olivia is the only one sitting in my hospital room. There is a newspaper in her lap, and she only seems to be casually reading it. When her phone vibrates, her dark eyes quickly dart to it, but she soon rolls them and shakes her head before ignoring whatever it was.

“Hope it wasn’t too important,” I joke with her.

“Maggie!” she cries, throwing the newspaper aside and darting to the edge of my bed before gingerly sitting down beside me. She takes my non-crushed hand and holds it tightly. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Fine. I’ll live.”

A shadow crosses her face then. “I should probably tell you that...”

“I lost the baby?” I ask, putting a smile upon my face. “Don’t worry—you don’t have to say it. I already know.”

“Do you also know that Don, Fin, and John came to see you?”

I shake my head. “No. I didn’t know. No.”

She nods. “The roses—well, the smaller bouquet—are from Don; he thought the yellow color would cheer you up. The big red bouquet of roses are from Hunter, of course; Fin brought that box of chocolates with the daisies on the box; and John brought you that cat stuffed animal.”

“My favorite...” I whisper. “My favorite animal...” It is a stuffed gray tabby, with darker gray stripes, standing upright on all four legs and looking alertly around the room with green plastic eyes.

“He remembers the weirdest things,” Olivia tells me, laughing.

“It was sweet of him,” I say softly.

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked me what Elliot brought you, if anything,” she goes on, and I lower my eyes. “Come on. Ask.”

“He was here?” I whisper.

“Sure was. Came when I was in the cafeteria—I didn’t see him, nobody did. But he left you a letter. Here.” She hands it to me. “Why don’t you read it, and I’ll call Hunter to tell him that you’re awake?”

“No!” I reach out then and grab her arm to stop her from calling Hunter. “Please. I don’t want you calling him.”

“Maggie...”

“No, listen.” I sigh then, shaking my head as I force myself to form the words that must be said. “I’m going to file for separation.”

“You’re doing what?” Olivia asks, shocked.

I sigh, shaking my head. “We haven’t been communicating for almost six months, Olivia. The pregnancy was a fluke—we got really drunk one night when we were both home and it just happened.” I sigh then, shaking my head. “I’m going to leave Edythe with him and get Helena to come live with me and the twins in the penthouse close by work.”

“You’re not giving up your job?”

I shake my head. “No. But I am going to ask for a transfer. I know Nate won’t get a promotion—he’s happy being a sergeant, he told me so...”

“A transfer?” Olivia asks. “To where?”

I smile at her, opening my letter. “You just leave that to me,” I reply, and she knows to give me a few moments by myself to read Elliot’s letter...

_Maggie—_

_Listen very carefully; you need to destroy this as soon as possible. If IAB or 1PP got word that this language was out there, it would mean my pension and yours as well as your job. Yes, I know you must be shocked that I took the wrap for shooting Jenna Fox, but I couldn’t ask you to do so. Yes, you moved up faster in the police department than I did, but you aren’t even thirty—you could go far, Maggie, and I know you will. Please, don’t fight me on this; I took the wrap and it's done, and my career at SVU is over._

_As for the other matter, I’m going to attempt to make my marriage with Kathy work, especially for the kids’ sake. They’re all growing up so fast—Eli is three already, and I don’t want to miss another moment with him. However, I will say this to you: I did love you, and I will continue to do so until the day I die. However, we always carry a torch for our first love, and that’s exactly what Kathy was and continues to be for me. I still love her, Maggie, and I’m going to work on being the husband she deserves, as well as the father my kids deserve._

_I don’t think it will be possible for the two of us to meet again. I’m going to devote all my time to my family, and, not to sound insensitive, but I think it would be best if we remained apart. I know that as a wife and mother yourself, you will understand this simple, albeit difficult, request. I thank you very much for your consideration and understanding._

_Always remember me, Maggie. I know I will remember you, and I will never forget all our times together._

_I will love you in this life to my grave. Farewell, my darling._

_—Elliot_

“Say anything interesting?” Olivia asks.

I shake my head, memorizing the words before returning the letter to its envelope and shredding it myself. I then gather the pieces and motion for the trash can, where they are soon deposited into what my relationship with every man on earth has eventually turned into. “Nothing,” I reply. “Absolutely nothing was said that was remotely interesting.”

. . . 

I am thankful that Hunter seems to have a heavy schedule over the next few days, and I am discharged from the hospital only three days later. I make my way out of the hospital and into the waiting taxi cab and make my way through the streets of Manhattan to the SVU squad room; I have to see Don. Making my way across town soon I’m arriving at my destination and slip inside the main doors. I walk up the steps and inside the place, up the elevator to the appropriate floor, and step off to approach the squad room.

I make my way down the hallway where I run into Olivia, but she doesn’t notice me as she slips into an interrogation room off the main hall. Then, suddenly, it hits me—Don has told her that Elliot is truly gone. Faintly, from behind the door, I hear her muffled sobs and quickly dash the tears from my own eyes as I lean up against the wall briefly. Shuddering at the thought of not seeing Elliot again, I quickly push the thought from my mind as I attempt to force myself to stand fully upright and to complete my mission.

“Can I help you?”

Turning, I see a young man a few years my senior with jet-black hair, dark eyes, and a face that appears curious. “Uh, yeah, sorry,” I say, stepping forward. “You must be the new detective. Nicholas Amaro, right?” I ask, putting out my hand with what I hope is a friendly smile.

“Yeah, it’s Nick, actually,” he says, shaking my hand. “And you are?”

“Lieutenant Maggie Grayson, Homicide,” I reply. “Good friend of everyone in the squad, for the most part, except I’m not familiar with you or Detective Amanda Rollins just yet. A fact that I hope to change.”

“Oh, my gosh,” Nick Amaro says, shaking his head. “Sorry. You took down Tony Moreno,” he says with a grin. “I worked Narcotics when you took him down. We have a deep respetar for you.”

I find myself smiling at this sudden turn of events. “Asi que hablas espanol?” I ask him with my near-flawless accent.

“Sí, me enseñaron desde la infancia,” he says, impressed.

“Estoy impresionado,” I reply. “It’s always good to be able to speak a second language in this line of work.”

“Speak anything else?” Nick asks.

“Je tremper en français,” I reply, without missing a beat.

Nick nods in approval. “Well, I’m sure the captain would like to see you...”

“Amaro, I’ll take it from here,” Fin says, stepping slightly into the hallway with a protective glance my way.

“No problem, Fin,” Nick says, flashing me a smile before returning to the squad room and back to his new desk.

“Great to see you, Maggie,” Fin says, approaching me and embracing me. “You here to see the captain?”

I nod. “I am, if he’s not too busy... I just got out of the hospital a few minutes ago and I was wanting to ask him something...”

“No problem. He’s in. I’ll take you.” Fin puts a rather protective arm around my shoulders and takes me through the squad room where John gives me an indulgent smile and Amanda gives me a friendly wave as we make our way towards Don’s office. Fin knocks at the door and opens it as Don just hangs up the phone. “Look who I found chatting up Amaro,” he says with a chuckle.

“I see you’ve officially met our two new detectives, Maggie,” Don says, walking towards us as Fin drops his arm on my shoulders. Don leans down to hug me and I stand on my toes to get my arms around his neck. “Did you just get out of the hospital today? How are you doing?” he asks, taking my hand and quickly pulling me almost immediately towards his desk chair as he’d done when I was pregnant with the twins.

That memory sparks something within me as Fin waves to head out on a case and, the moment he shuts the door behind him, I begin to sob profusely. Don instantly is at my side and hugs me, and I feel so safe with him that I am nearly hiccupping before I permit myself to let him go and wipe the tears from my eyes. “I... I don’t know if Olivia told you anything...”

“Just that you were improving nicely,” Don replies, pulling a chair next to his desk chair and perches on the end of it, facing me. “Is everything okay?”

I shake my head. “There’s a few things going on... Elliot left me a letter when I was in the hospital...”

“Elliot?” Don asks, shocked.

I nod. “Yeah, Elliot. Liv was getting a coffee in the cafeteria when he came to visit me—nobody saw him, because I was still under. Liv kept the letter for me until I woke up and I destroyed it like he said...”

“Destroyed it?” he asks, confused. “This is about the Jenna Fox shooting, isn’t it, Maggie? I swear I’ll be discreet...”

I nod. “Yeah. Yeah, it was about her shooting...” I hiccup for a few minutes until Don gives me a bottle of water, which I promptly gulp down. “He said that the reason why he did what he did was to save me my job... And then he said he was going to try to make his marriage with Kathy work and that he thinks it would be better if we didn’t see each other anymore...”

“Are you okay with that?”

I sigh, taking a few more sips of my water. “Can you recommend me a good lawyer for me, Don? Please.”

“You’re not going to sue Elliot, are you?”

I laugh a little, shaking my head. “No. No, I’m going to file for a legal separation between me and Hunter.”

“A separation?!” Don says, completely flummoxed. “I had no idea it was that serious between you two...”

I nod. “Yeah. Very serious. Just before I left here the day of the accident, I saw Hunter with a woman walking down the street...”

“A woman? Does Hunter have any sisters?”

“Remember Diana Valentina?”

“Of course. She was your partner when you first joined Homicide but transferred to Narcotics after Travers was shot.”

“That’s her,” I confirm. “Hunter was adopted by Derrick after his father was killed in the Persian Gulf War, and Diana just so happens to be Derrick’s biological daughter,” I say softly. “Only Diana’s mother wasn’t considered good enough for Derrick’s family, so they tried to buy her off, but she refused and raised Diana by herself on a laundress’ salary.”

“I had no idea that Diana was Derrick’s daughter,” Don replies.

“I wouldn’t have either if Diana hadn’t told me and Hunter hadn’t confirmed it,” I say softly, taking another sip of water. “But anyhow, I saw Hunter walking down the street with a woman, and they were...kissing.”

“Kissing? As in...?”

“Kissing as in what Hunter and I did at the alter when we got married,” I say, and find myself crossing my legs in disgust. “He’s cheating, and he hasn’t been communicating, and from what I’ve learned from Nate, he’s been having an awful lot of afternoons and evenings away from the squad, especially since I was away for the summer, as well as in the days when I was in the hospital. Which is why his declaration to Liv was very strange...”

“Strange? How?” Don asks.

“He assured her that he wasn’t cheating on me, and I...”

“You?”

“I almost believed him,” I confess, shaking my head. “But I can’t do that, not anymore. I’ve put in a call to Helena and I’ve asked her to bring the twins to the penthouse—I’ll live there. Hunter can stay in the Westchester estate with Edythe and Edythe can come to me during school vacations and Hunter can have weekends. I’m going to draft a petition for sole custody of the twins and joint-custody of Edythe...”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks.

I nod. “I’m sure.”

“And what about your job? Won’t it be difficult for you to go and work with him every single day?”

“That’s why I came to you,” I reply, turning to face him. “I was wondering... How would you feel about me coming to work at SVU?”

Don smiles. “Any other day, I’d say yes, but...”

“But you have your hands full with Amaro and Rollins?” I say, finding myself smiling at him. “That’s okay. I understand...”

“It’s not that, actually. I wanted to say something earlier but...”

“But what?”

“Hunter just announced to the other captains this morning that he’s going to be Tucker’s new right-hand man at IAB.”

“IAB?!” I cry, shocked.

Don nods. “Yeah. Apparently, he and Tucker became real buddies this summer and Tucker offered him a job last month.”

“Shows you how much my husband and I communicate,” I reply, shaking my head at him. “He didn’t tell me any of this...”

“So, normally I’d be enthusiastic about bringing you on board the SVU team, Maggie, but I strongly advise that you take the Captain’s Exam...”

“The Captain’s Exam?” I breathe, shocked at this sudden turn of events. “But can’t I just stay Lieutenant?”

“Of course,” Don replies. “But I like being a captain—it just has a nice, satisfying ring to it. You can change your mind later, you know.”

“When does Hunter...?”

“Start? Well, from what I’ve heard, they’ve completed the planning for the transfer and now all he has to do is wait for you to agree to step up as commanding officer of Homicide.”

“Commanding officer?” I whisper, the shock radiating through me.

“So, what do you think? You could join SVU as a lieutenant, or you could take over as commanding officer for Homicide. The choice is yours.”

I sigh, shaking my head. “I’ll take over as commanding officer at Homicide,” I reply with a smile. “As much as I value Nate as a fellow Homicide worker—I mean, he’s a great sergeant—I don’t think he’s quite ready to begin to take the steps to be commanding officer. Although, I will admit, I’ll be proud to have him as my second in command.”

Don nods. “I understand. You do your thing, I’ll do mine. Oh, but I do have a lawyer in mind for you...”

“Yeah?” I ask, curious. “Why?”

He sighs. “I know this’ll be difficult for you, but you want the best lawyer possible, and the best ones are the bullies...”

“Don...” I begin, sure where he is going.

“You want John Buchanan,” he tells me. “I know you don’t exactly have a good history with him—none of us do. But if you want the best deal possible here, Maggie, you want John Buchanan.”

I sigh. “You’re right. Despite everything he ended up putting me through, he was a good lawyer, from Moreno’s point of view at least.”

Don smiles, reaching for my phone and I hand it to him, where he puts a number into my contacts before handing it back to me. “Come by soon, okay?” he asks me with a smile. “You’re always welcome—my door’s always open.”

I smile at him as we both get to our feet. “Thank you, Don Cragen,” I say, stepping forward and embracing him before stepping out of his office. Briefly, I cross the room to embrace John and thank him for the cat stuffed animal—put into the penthouse by Olivia for safekeeping. After a wave to Amanda, I tell John to have Olivia call me as I leave the squad room for what I believe will be the last time for a considerable period.

. . .

I head to the upscale coffee bar where I’ve requested a meeting with John Buchanan in the first weeks of October. I’ve been telling Hunter that I don’t want to make the long drive up to the house, something that he seems to understand, and he’s permitted Helena and the twins to “stay” with me for the time being. He promises to bring Edythe to me as Thanksgiving approaches, but I realize that, for now, phone calls and Skype sessions must suffice.

Stepping in to the coffee shop, I spot John Buchanan at a circular booth with a typical black coffee in front of him. He gets to his feet with a kind smile and shakes my hand as I approach, offering me a seat beside him. I slip into the red leather booth and sigh a little, thanking him when he says that I can order a drink and a pastry, all on him. I order a hot tea and a chocolate croissant as we’re waiting and, soon, my drink comes out, along with my perfectly-formed croissant as well as a jelly doughnut for him.

“What can I help you with today, Lieutenant Grayson?” he asks me.

I sigh. “Well, for starters, you can think of me as Captain Holbrook,” I reply with a smile. “I take the Captain’s Exam in a couple of weeks and I’m going back to my maiden name.”

“Maiden name?” he asks, setting down his doughnut. “Am I allowed to be privy to the information as to why you’re changing it?”

I nod. “Absolutely. That’s why I’ve called you here. I’ve asked for this meeting because I want to file for legal separation from my husband. I intend to divorce him if this separation doesn’t go according to plan.”

“Separation? Divorce?” he asks, shocked. “Lieutenant...”

“Maggie, please, Mr. Buchanan,” I reply.

“It’s John, please, Maggie,” he says with a smile. “Why on earth would you want to divorce your husband? Has this anything to do with your upcoming promotion in the Homicide unit?”

I shake my head. “No, John. Nothing like that, it’s...” I sigh. “It’s mainly a case of irreconcilable differences, but there’s been adultery and lies as well,” I say softly to him, almost as if Hunter has the place bugged.

“Hunter?! Cheating on _you_?!” he cries, utterly shocked. “Man... Maggie, I’m so sorry to hear that...”

I smirk a little, stirring some sugar in my tea. “And here I was, these last few months, thinking that you hated me...”

“Hated you? Oh, you mean...” He sighs a little at that. “Wow. May my disparaging remarks haunt me to the grave. I’m sorry I had to attack you like that in open court, Maggie, really. But you have to understand, it was for the benefit of my client. I do hope there are no hard feelings between us.”

“Why would there be?” I ask him. “I’m asking you to be my lawyer now, aren’t I, John Buchanan?”

He chuckles. “Well, I suppose you are.” He reaches into his briefcase and takes out a notepad. “Okay. Infidelity. Tell me.”

“Before my last accident—I told you on the phone that I had been in a car accident a few weeks ago—I saw Hunter with another woman. There I was, about to get into the cab, and there was Hunter, walking down the street and kissing another woman. There’s no way I could have misinterpreted this, John. I know what a passion-filled kiss looks like.”

John Buchanan nods. “Of course. I’m sure many people do. Is there anything else that you think are grounds for a separation?”

I sigh a little at that. “We don’t talk,” I reply.

John looks up. “Ever?”

I shake my head. “No. I mean, we talk about our kids—three now, Edythe, who is thirteen and a freshman in high school; and the twins, Livi and Don—and work, of course, but never about each other. I believe that honesty and communication are the two most important things when it comes to a married couple, and the both of us have obviously failed in that respect. I can’t explain it, but I guess the best way to do so would be I love Hunter, but I don’t like him...”

John nods, a tight smile on his face. “What are you asking for?”

“We have two properties—our mansion in Westchester and a penthouse by Central Park that’s still in my name. Hunter can have the mansion and live there and Edythe can come home to him—her school is out in Westchester. I’ll stay in the penthouse with our nanny, Helena, and our twins. I’m not asking for any alimony or child support or anything like that. I’m asking for full custody of the twins and joint-custody of Edythe. That’s all.”

“May I suggest something?” he asks.

I nod. “Of course.”

“Are the twins in Helena’s care at the penthouse?”

“Yes, they’ve been there since I’ve been released from the hospital,” I affirm. “I think Helena may be leaving us, due to her boyfriend considering proposing to her, and then I’ll have to find another nanny... But yes, Helena is at the penthouse with the twins as we speak.”

“My advice would be to have Hunter followed,” John Buchanan tells me. “I know a P.I. that could do the job and be real discreet about it.”

I nod. “Okay,” I reply.

“He does charge a lot, I’m afraid...”

I shake my head. “Money isn’t an obstacle. I have plenty of it and I’m willing to spend it to find out the truth.”

John Buchanan’s lips form a tight line as he scrawls a note for himself on his notepad. “I’ll give him the information, then,” he replies.

I nod. “Set it up,” I confirm.

. . .

Olivia is over with me at the penthouse one evening a week later after she’s gotten off work from the squad. It is a Friday night and Helena is out with Sebastian once again, and the twins are asleep in their bedroom. Olivia and I are sipping a bottle of merlot on the couch; we’ve turned off the news in favor of gossiping about Amaro and Rollins, who still have a lot to learn. Amanda, who worked at SVU down in Georgia, obviously knows what she’s talking about, so she has knowledge on her side, while Amaro clearly has no sympathy for those criminals who rape the mentally disabled or children.

My phone buzzes and Olivia nods for me to answer it when I see that it is the number for John Buchanan. “John,” I say into the phone.

“Maggie,” he replies. “The P.I. is on his way to the penthouse. Are you alone there?” he wants to know.

I shake my head. “No. The twins are in bed asleep and Olivia is here...”

“That’ll be fine, then,” John tells me. “I know how close you two are. Well, he’ll be there in a few minutes. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, John,” I reply, hanging up.

“Everything okay?” Olivia asks.

I nod. “Yeah. The P.I. is coming.”

“Should I go?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No. Stay. Please.”

Olivia smiles. “No problem.”

A few moments later, I hear a buzz at my door, and I slowly make my way over to the call box. I speak briefly to Stanley, who informs me that a Karl Jessup is there to see me, who bears the name of the P.I. that I hired based on the reference from John Buchanan. I tell Stanley to go ahead and send him up, and wait, poised, by the front door. When the knock comes, I peer through the peephole, seeing a rather clean-cut, average-looking gentleman on the other side, and immediately open the door for him.

“Karl?” I ask. “Karl Jessup?”

“Last time I checked,” he replies, showing me his shield.

I smile and step back. “Come in,” I reply, and he steps over the threshold. “The living room is just over here,” I say, shutting the door behind me and leading him inside. “This is my good friend, Detective Olivia Benson.”

“Good to meet you, detective,” Karl says, putting out his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she says. “Please call me ‘Olivia’.”

“No problem,” Karl says. “Now, lieutenant...”

“Maggie, please,” I reply.

“Maggie,” he says, reaching into his briefcase for a file folder, “what I’m about to show you may hurt or confuse you...”

I nod, searching for and finding Olivia’s hand. “I can take it.”

“Okay.” He opens the folder, bringing it to the waist-high table in the center of the room and Olivia and I make our way towards him. “Here we are,” he says softly, almost reluctantly, spreading the photographs across its cherry wood surface. “As you can see, here is your husband with the woman...”

“Did you get her name?” I ask, gripping Olivia’s hand.

“Yes,” Karl replies as my eyes rove over the various shots of the two of them together, laughing and kissing and having a wonderful time. “Her name is Lacey Monroe and she’s from Newport in Rhode Island. From what I’ve gathered, they’ve been seeing each other for a period of seven months and...”

“Maggie,” Olivia says, interrupting Karl, and picking up one of the pictures at the other end of the table.

“What?” I asked, feeling utterly numb.

“Take a look at this,” she says, handing it over.

“That one...maybe you shouldn’t...”

“I would think you’d be morally against withholding important information from your clients, Karl,” Olivia says.

“Right. Sorry,” Karl says.

I force myself to look at the picture in my hand, and immediately, I feel as if I am going to be sick. “But that’s... No,” I whisper, the tears finally coming from my eyes and down my face. “Why is Edythe in this photograph with Hunter and this woman?!” I demand, shaking.

“Lacey Monroe...”

“I don’t give a damn what her name is, Karl!” I cry, slamming my free hand down upon the surface of the table, cracking it, and sending some of the pictures to the floor. “What I _do_ give a damn about is why the hell this woman is _interacting_ with my little girl! Why was Edythe even with them?” I whisper, staring at every inch of the photograph, tears falling from my face and down onto it. “Why would she betray me like this?” I say softly. “Why would he?”

“Why would anyone?” Olivia asks, putting an arm around my shoulders and turning to look at Karl for an answer.


	12. Still Falling For You

I was thankful that I was able to have Olivia and Fin by my side to play nice as Hunter had his goodbye party held in the Homicide squad room. The results for my Captain’s Exam were due back any time now, but the department was willing to have me take over Homicide as simply Lieutenant Holbrook—only they knew of my decision to keep my maiden name; well, the department, Olivia, and Fin; my soon-to-be ex-husband was still out of the loop, on everything. I tapped my nails upon the windowsill, peering over to Nate, Melanie, Violette, James, and many other members of the department congratulated Hunter on his promotion. I would wait for him to look over at me from time to time from where I stood with Olivia and Fin, and raise my glass to him.

“You have to tell him, Maggie,” Fin says quietly among the hubbub of the party around us.

“Fin’s right,” Olivia tells me. “I know it’s hard, but just do what Buchanan is telling you to do...”

“I still can’t believe you hired that guy after what he did to you,” Fin says, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

“Don told me he was the best of the best, and he is,” I reply, staring down at the cheap red wine in the red solo cup. “The man plays hardball—that’s exactly what I need right now.”

“If you’re sure,” Olivia says.

“I’m sure,” I say, giving her a tight smile. Sighing a little, I say softly, “I asked Don for a job at SVU.”

“What?” Fin demands then.

I sigh. “I didn’t know that Tucker managed to turn Hunter over to the dark side,” I say quietly. “I was considering the transfer in the wake of my choice to file for the separation. I really, _really_ wanted to work with you guys, but when the news came that I could run this department myself...”

“We understand,” Fin replies.

“It’ll be nice to get some young blood in the department,” Olivia says with a smile then. “How old are you again?”

I make a face at her. “Twenty-six,” I reply. “Twenty-six years, three months, and three weeks,” I say with a smile.

“That puts your birthday in July,” Fin says.

“The _end_ of July,” I correct him with a giggle. “Edythe had to go over all this with me for some family history project she’s doing...”

“How’s that going?” Fin wants to know.

I shrug. “Honestly, not well; I’m not much help to her. Since I’m as adopted as she is, and I still haven’t tracked down my birth family, it’s just not panning out. All I know is that I was born to a teenage mother, somewhere in New York, on July twenty-second, 1985. I don’t know about my biological father at all, and I have yet to track down my birth mother...”

“How do you know she wants to be tracked down?!” Olivia snaps at the pair of us then, slamming down her wine glass and sloshing some down onto the tile of the windowsill.

“Liv, relax,” Fin tries.

“No, Fin, I won’t,” Olivia says, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I... I’m going to need to call it a night,” she says, making a beeline for the double doors and not stopping to say goodbye to anyone.

“Maybe I should...” Fin says softly.

I nod at him. “Go. I’ll be fine.”

Fin nods back. “Okay. Let me know if Hunter tries anything. I know some guys from the ‘hood who could straighten him out if...”

I smile and pat Fin on the shoulder. “Thanks. I’m glad I can call you a friend, Fin. I really am.”

He smiles and pulls me into a hug before taking off after Olivia, grabbing both their coats as he leaves while I manage to slip into my office. I stand in the doorway, having a momentary moment of nostalgic as I run my hand along the wood paneling of the doorway. Turning around, I imagine the squad room, empty of all the party-goers, and remember my first day at Manhattan Homicide...

_“I have your gold shield right here,” he says, the words NEW YORK STATE POLICE and DETECTIVE MARGARET HOLBROOK stamped on it. “I wasn’t sure if you’d rather be called Margaret or Maggie...”_

_“It’s all right, captain,” I tell him with a smile. “I wear a suit to work now, so formality should be a must.” I take it from his outstretched hands and pin it onto my suit jacket. “Does it suit me?” I ask, laughing at my bad pun._

_Captain Jennings laughed; he was a teddy bear of a man, with dark red hair and sparkling blue eyes. “You look great, Maggie,” he tells me. “Now, come on out so that I can introduce you to everybody.” He leads me out into the squad room and takes ahold of what must have been an old broom handle, and taps its base hard on an empty chair. “Homicide detectives!” he booms. At once, everyone stops what they’re doing to turn and look at Captain Jennings, each of them curious. “Here by my side I have our newest detective, Maggie Holbrook. She joins us from Captain Harrisons’ officers; she graduated top of her class in Criminal Law at University of Washington School of Law, and subsequently first in her class in Seattle’s police academy. Maggie, however, hungered for the Big Apple and moved to New York almost three years ago. She just made detective last night, whereupon she was promptly transferred here. I want you all to make her feel welcome, especially since her first undercover operation was a success! She successfully took down former Father Benedict Michaels who we just heard this morning has been sentenced to twenty years to life in prison!”_

_Everyone in the squad room applauded mightily, except for a woman sitting by the window, sipping coffee, who looked more like a supermodel than a detective. I sensed that there was resentment within her, but I chose not to dwell on it. Instead I thanked everyone for their support, yet remained humble all the same._

_“Detectives Newton and Cagney, how’s your investigation going on the serial killer Monte Davies?” Captain Jennings asks._

_“Well,” the one I see is called Gloria Newton answers. “We’ve discovered his hideout and we’ll probably get to get to him within the next seventy-two hours, captain.”_

_“Assuming he doesn’t make a move,” Captain Jennings replies, turning back to me with a grim smile. “As for you, Maggie, you’ll be partnered up with one of our finest, Diana Valentina, who has been with us for six years,” he says, nodding in the direction of the supermodel by the window. “Diana, come over here and meet Maggie, please.”_

_Diana reluctantly comes over; she has green eyes and black hair, and I think that there is some Hispanic within her somewhere. She gives me the once-over and sighs a little. “Good to meet you,” she says, giving me an I-don’t-care handshake and pasting on a smile until Captain Jennings walks back to his office. “Look, I know your type,” she says in a hostile manner towards me. “Park Avenue, Daddy’s little girl, total bitch. I don’t want to take any of your crap,” she says, shaking her head at me. “The only reason they’re pairing me with you is because...”_

_“I know, I know,” I say, crossing my arms. “It’s either because they don’t trust me yet or because they think you’ll spoon-feed me, right? I get it,” I say, breezing past her and pouring myself some coffee—hey, I may have hated the drink, but this Diana chick was giving me a headache. “Trust me, my last partner didn’t like me at first either.”_

_“It’s not because of that,” Diana snaps. “It’s because my former partner, Johnny Bennett, was gunned down by a drug lord when he was undercover. He was planning on transferring to Narcotics anyway, but it didn’t have to go down like that, you know?”_

_I turn and regard her then, and find my brows going together as I contemplate her words and how tenderly she spoke of Johnny. “You were in love with him,” I say quietly to her._

_“That’s a lie,” Diana snaps._

_I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that. I don’t mean to be invasive or patronizing in any way, Diana, but I got my minor in psychology. It’s plain to see that you had romantic feelings for Johnny.”_

_“Nobody knew we were together,” she whispers, “or, if they did, they never let on that we were.”_

_I give her a small smile. “It’s okay. I dated a detective once. Not a good story, and no happy ending for me either. Trust me, my life hasn’t been a total walk in the park, Diana.” I sigh and motion for her to stand closer. “I was born in New York but I moved to Seattle when I was a baby after I was adopted. My biological mother abandoned me at birth because she didn’t want a baby—or a constant reminder of the guy she slept with. For my graduation present from high school, I begged my parents to take me back here because I wanted to be an actress. I’d been accepted into Julliard so they figured a trip to New York would do me some sort of good. I get here and it’s amazing, but, one day, I’m shopping with my mom and I get attacked in the bathroom. I was a virgin; I’d had three boyfriends, but I’d slept with one of them, but it didn’t... He didn’t, you know,” I say softly. “So I was raped in the bathroom of FAO Schwartz by this guy... I still don’t know all the details; I was only seventeen at the time. That’s when I met Detectives Benson and Stabler and rejected Julliard to be a cop.”_

_“Really?” Diana asks._

_I nod. “Really,” I reply. “So, yeah, I come from money, but my life isn’t a total cakewalk, Diana. You can reek of money but still be unhappy. My ex decided to go back to his wife and kids instead of being with me. I guess I wasn’t enough for him, in the end...”_

_“New York guy?” Diana asks._

_“No,” I lie, shaking my head. “He was doing some training with us back when I lived in Seattle. I think he said he was from Chicago.”_

_“Ah,” Diana says. “Sorry to hear that.”_

_I shrug, sipping my coffee tentatively. “Hey, it is what it is. What are you going to do about it?”_

_“Oh...” Diana says softly, looking behind me._

_“What?” I ask._

_“He’s here,” she replies quietly._

_“Who’s here?”_

_“Hunter,” she replies. “Derrick’s nephew—adopted him after his dad was killed in the Persian Gulf War,” she whispers to me as Hunter goes up to speak with Newton and Cagney, who I saw bears the first name of Wilbur._

_“What about his mom?” I ask softly._

_“Died in childbirth,” she replies easily. “Hunter was only eight when his dad was gunned down unmerciful and then Derrick stepped in. They come from old money, the Jennings,” she tells me. “Came over on the Mayflower, apparently. I don’t know much about it.”_

_“Oh, I see,” I reply, turning away from the gorgeous specimen as Diana leads me over to her desk, where mine is placed just opposite. I smile a little as the name plate says DET. HOLBROOK, making me feel important as I take a seat. “Do we have any cases?” I ask her._

_“Not now,” Diana replies, sitting across from me. “But that can all change in the blink of an eye.”_

_I nod. “Good to know.”_

_“Diana, for shame,” Hunter says rather cockily as he makes his way towards us. “I can’t believe that you didn’t introduce me to your partner.”_

_Diana shrugs. “Why should I?”_

_“Very funny,” Hunter says, shaking his head. “Come on, I’m your cousin. The least you could do is play nice.”_

_I raise my eyebrows at Diana, who sighs._

_“Derrick is my biological father,” Diana clarifies. “But I was raised by my mother because the Jennings family didn’t approve of me. And technically speaking, I’m your sister, Hunter, since you were adopted by Derrick. Remember that,” she says, pointing a perfectly manicured, scarlet-colored finger at him before gathering the files on her desk and walking off, presumably, to the file room._

_“Tension in paradise, I see,” I remark softly, looking over the paperwork that has been put on my desk, about a serial rapist named Tony Moreno. “Looks like some paperwork from Special Victims’ got mixed up in here...”_

_“Let’s see,” Hunter says, looking down. “Ah. Well, murder trumps rape, and we suspect Tony Moreno of murder. We’ve got about another week to prove it, but if we don’t get anywhere, that case is thrown out the window and SVU gets him on all those rapes.”_

_“I see.” I raise my eyes to peer at Hunter; he has a strong jaw line, fair skin, brown hair, intelligent brown eyes, and those lips... I quickly bite my lower lip and look away from him. Dammit, not the boss’s son and certainly not on the first day of work, Holbrook, I say angrily to myself._

_“So sorry.” Hunter says, putting out a hand. “Sergeant Hunter Grayson. Nice to meet the new recruit... Margaret,” he says, reading my badge._

_“Maggie,” I reply, taking his hand and turning to look at him full in the face for the first time, causing his eyes to widen ever so slightly. “Good to meet you.” I shake his hand briefly before dropping it; his hand remains suspended in mid-air for a moment before another gentleman, who appears to be a family man in his mid-forties, walks up to us._

_“Ah, the new recruit, I see,” says the man, putting out his hand. “Detective Jackson Travers, been here six years. How the heck are ya?!” he says enthusiastically with a barrel of laughter before pulling me up out of my seat and giving me a big hug. “I like to keep things friendly,” he confesses, laughing a bit before letting me go. “I have to confess that my wife of over twenty years doesn’t always see it that way, but oh well,” he says, still laughing._

_“You’ll see to it that you keep it professional with Margaret,” Hunter says, giving Jackson a stern look before going over to his desk, a large one, separated from all the others, right by Captain Jennings’s office._

_“Don’t mind Hunter, he gets tightly wound on Monday mornings,” Jackson tells me with a kind smile._

_I return the smile. “New York born and raised, huh?”_

_“Queens, guilty,” he says, throwing up his hand with a chuckle. “The wife and I own the apartment house that I grew up in now. Fixed it up real nice; now it’s a full-fledged home. The kids love it...”_

_“Kids?” I ask, laughing. “How many?”_

_“Six, bless my wife,” he replies, covering a hand over his heart. “The twins, Audrey Anne and Lillian Marie are now at Hudson University, full scholarships—our Audrey for law and our Lillian for medicine. Then there’s Jackson Jr.; he’s going to graduate high school this year. Then came Harry, and he’s in his second year of high school. Then was Rosie Mae, and she’s due to start high school next year—in September. And then there’s Joe, we call him Joey, and he’s going to start middle school in September. We’re all proud of all of them, although they can get a bit loud when they want something. You got kids?”_

_I shake my head. “No. I just ended things with someone about a year ago.” I shrug at him; there is something very paternal about Jackson, and I find that I feel very safe with him. “Besides, I’ve got time—I’m only twenty-two.”_

_“The wife and I were married at eighteen,” Jackson says; he is gleeful, and not boasting about this in any way, shape or form. “As soon as high school graduation happened—BOOM! —we were saying our vows. I joined the police academy right away, and she took night school because our twins were born right away. Genetic things, twins; my mother’s side had ‘em, her father’s side had ‘em.”_

_I nod at that. “Yeah, twins run in my family, too,” I reply. “My mother is actually a triplet, and my father has two brothers who are twins are well...”_

_Hunter lets out a groan and gets to his feet; his swivel desk chair goes flying across the room and collides with a filing cabinet as he comes towards us. “Now I know that it appears as if Margaret is this shiny new toy that we all just have to have, but we’ve got work to do. Margaret, do a brief meet-and-greet with Newton and Cagney and then find Valentina in the file room. Go on,” he says when I don’t move to do his bidding. “Chop-chop.”_

_“Chop-chop?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “Oh, no, no, no. I’m sorry, but you have no right to speak to me that way. I’m not just going to chop vegetables—or, in this case, be rude to fellow members of the squad—on your say-so. It may be my first day on the job, and I might be only a detective, but you’re a sergeant. I answer to the captain, Grayson, not to you.”_

_Hunter looks shocked that I have dared to speak out of turn. He crosses the room so as he is standing before the office of Captain Jennings and moves the blinds ever so slightly so as we can see him. There he is, sitting with his back to us in his green tweed suit which made my back itch when he put his arm around me (hey, the best of us are allergic to wool, calm down) his phone pressed up to his ear. I take it to mean it is a sensitive call, and quickly look away, not wanting to get caught for spying on the boss._

_“Since you’re new, no disciplinary action will be taken against you,” Hunter says to me, obviously trying to keep his temper. “But I want to be the first one to tell you that if the captain is otherwise engaged, orders automatically defer to me. I fully intend to take the lieutenants exam next year, and when I pass, I fully intend to take you in front of the disciplinary board if this unprofessional, childish attitude of yours is used again. Is that understood?”_

_I lower my eyes. “Loud and clear, sarge,” I reply._

_“Now hang on a minute, Hunter,” Jackson says, stepping slightly in front of me, “I know full well that you conveniently used your status as the adopted son and biological nephew of Jennings to step in and get promoted...”_

_“That’s enough, Travers,” Hunter replies sharply._

_“He’s right, Hunter,” Gloria says, shooting me a kind smile, especially in her bright green eyes; she wears her abundant curly red hair is caught back in an abundant ponytail, which hangs elegantly to the middle of her back. “You joined the department after all of us, and you know it. By all rights, the sergeant position should’ve gone to Jackson...”_

_“But you swooped it right out from under him,” Wilbur says, shaking his head at Hunter; Wilbur was lean and fit, standing just over six feet tall with a serious and intelligent expression on his face. Wilbur quite reminded me of the English actor Matthew MacFadyen, who was mainly known for playing Mr. Darcy opposite Keira Knightley in Pride and Prejudice. “You’ve got to give it a rest. We know you’re a sergeant, Hunter, it doesn’t make you a superstar.”_

_“But it has made you a bully,” Jackson says softly. “Picking on the poor kid like that on her first day. Yes, she should know the rules and regulations about how we run things here, but, like I said, it’s her first day. Cut her some slack.”_

_Hunter rolled his eyes, gathered some files, and called to a detective who just walked in, “Wilkes! You’re with me today!” and hauled the poor, naïve-looking man out of the squad room._

_“Thanks, guys,” I say, turning to them all with grateful smiles as Diana comes back into the squad room with more files._

_“We look after our own,” Gloria tells me with a smile._

I turn back around and slip back fully into my office, taking a good look at the matte coloring of the letters, the words LIEUTENANT MARGARET GRAYSON staring back at me. Shaking my head, I cross the room, knowing that even if I don’t pass the exam, that the head position around here will be mine, and that Hunter’s office—formally Derrick’s—will be mine, too. Biting my lip, I continue putting my possessions into boxes for the move across the squad room; it has been decided that Nate will have this office, while he and I will see about hiring a potential new detective to pick up the slack after Hunter leaves for IAB.

I open my top drawer then as I am clearing out space, and spot my first-ever New York badge lying there. The silvery color blinds me for a moment, so I am unsure what I am looking at; as my vision clears, I see the words OFFICER HOLBROOK printed onto it, with NEW YORK STATE POLICE decorates the top. Next to it, buried under some misfiled paperwork I’d vowed to take care of by the end of the week, was a photograph, facing down. A lump in my throat, I reach down and pick it up, turning it over; Elliot’s face causes my eyes to fill with tears as I reach down further to flip through the rest of them.

In a happier moment, the pair of us are walking around Times Square, laughing and giggling. I am kissing his face in one of them, and, in another, he is looking at me with a quizzical expression on his face as I am pointing something out. He is laughing in a third photograph, while in another I’ve got my arms thrown around his neck with him tipping his head back and laughing heartily. I am saying something in the last photograph—I know I am telling Elliot that I love him—but his fingers are attempting to cover my mouth. Tears flowing freely now, I realize then that Elliot didn’t want me to fall for him at all...

“Find anything interesting?”

I quickly raise my eyes, shocked to see Hunter standing in my doorway. Acting quickly, I shove the condemning photographs of me with Elliot to the very back of the drawer and slam it shut. “Just my badge,” I say, lifting it from my desktop and thanking god that it was semi-dark in my office—he wouldn’t be able to see my tears as I dashed them away.

“Some party, huh?” he asks, nodding to the few stragglers that haven’t managed to get the message that it is now dead.

I shrug. “I guess. Was never much of a party person,” I reply, deliberately casual, as I continue packing the remainder of my things in boxes to clear the way for Nate by the next day.

“You okay?” he asks, and I hear him walking towards me.

 _Dammit_ , I think to myself, cursing my body for automatically responding to him walking in close proximity to me. _Cool it, Holbrook. It’s over. Over, over, over. He is a cheater and a liar..._ “Fine,” I reply, coolly, moving to the opposite side of the room to lift down a photograph of Edythe and the twins off the wall. It was one of those overpriced, professional jobs that lots of parents liked to get of their children, that I swore never to buy but did. “Why do you ask?”

He takes ahold of my arm then; his hold is gentle yet firm, and I know he knows that something is up with me. “Because I’ve known you for six years, Maggie, and I think I know you a little bit better than that. Come on; I mean, honestly. What’s the problem here? You can tell me.”

I raise my head then, my lower lip trembling. This could go one of several ways, I knew that. I could get all emotional and throw myself in his arms like some insecure teenage girl with daddy issues. I could slap him across the face and confront him with all his lies. Or, I could take the high road and coldly inform him of my plans to, ultimately, divorce his sorry ass.

I decided to go with the third option.

“Hunter...” I sigh then; the lump has returned to my throat, and I realize that this will be more difficult than I originally expected.

“What?”

I allow him to turn me around then; I know that I have to face him, for not to do so would be another clever maneuver to hide from him. I didn’t want to hide from him or to keep any more secrets. _Well, Holbrook, it’s now or never_... “I can’t do this anymore, Hunter,” I say softly.

His eyebrows come together at that. “What do you mean?”

“This,” I say, moving my hand in between us. “It’s just not working.”

“What are you talking about?”

“God... Hunter, you’re not a stupid man; that’s one of the main reasons why I loved you in the first place.”

“You said ‘loved’. Past tense.”

I nod. “You’re right. I did.”

He steps away from me then, shocked. “You... You’re not in love with me anymore, Maggie?”

I shake my head, forcing my knees not to shake, or more tears from falling down my face. “No, I’m not.”

Hunter walks the rest of the distance to the door and shuts it, clearly wanting to make this a private conversation. “Enlighten me, then, please, Maggie. What has happened to make you feel this way.”

“It wasn’t an overnight thing, believe me,” I reply, gripping the back of the end table behind me, in order to keep myself from shaking.

“Well, when was it then?”

I sigh; even after all that had happened, I didn’t want to hurt him, and I hated myself for it. “It was last spring, of 2010,” I reply, knowing that this was truly when it was the beginning of the end. “When we didn’t even discuss Edythe going on her end-of-the-year school trip—you just said that she could go.”

“Did you not want her to go?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No, that’s not it. It’s the fact that we didn’t discuss it. I would have been fine with her going, Hunter, but the fact is, you cannot parent Edythe by yourself. She’s my daughter, too. In fact, she would have been my daughter regardless of me being with you or not. Her grandmother wanted me to be her legal guardian and mother—before you were even a serious possibility.”

“Anything else I’ve done?”

“You never _talk_ to me Hunter,” I reply. “I mean... Fuck, Hunter, you don’t fucking talk to me. It hurts me when you don’t talk to me. It makes me feel like you don’t value my opinion...”

“I value your opinion,” he replies, closing the distance between us and grabbing me around the waist. “Please, Maggie, please...”

“Hunter, no...”

He leans down to kiss me. “Baby, please...”

“Let. Me. Go.” I say these words through my teeth. “Let me go or I’ll blow your cheating head off, you son of a bitch!”

Hunter lets me go immediately, his eyes saucers. “Maggie...”

“What?”

“I can explain...”

“Don’t.” I cross to the door and open it. “Out. Go and get drunk with your friends and have a ball.”

He looks utterly devastated. “Maggie, I...”

“Save it.” I wave it away. “I’m done. We’re done.”

“Maggie...”

“No.” My voice is the firmest it’s ever been. “I’m amending my agreement with my lawyer. I wanted a separation to think it over, but I don’t need to do that. Not anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I want a divorce,” I reply simply. 

. . .

“It took all I had not to go to a church immediately,” I say to Olivia and Fin the following morning at breakfast.

“Why aren’t you in the squad now?” Fin asks.

“I asked Nate to hold down the fort until ten,” I reply easily. “We’re going to start interviewing new potential detectives at the end of the week. Hopefully we’ll land some good ones...”

“Was he angry with you?” Olivia wants to know.

I sigh. “More devastated, I think,” I reply, sipping my tea. “He didn’t say much to me; I spoke with Buchanan about it and according to him, Hunter asked him to represent _him_ in the divorce.”

“Can he do that?” Fin wants to know.

“Yeah, it’s called a collaborative divorce,” I reply. “It means one lawyer represents both the husband and wife without going through a major court system.”

“Did he take on Hunter as a client?” Olivia asks.

“Surprisingly, no,” I reply. “Buchanan says that he has my back and that he will continue to do so. He says that since I contacted him first, per Don’s reference, that he’ll only work with me on our divorce.”

“So it’s official?” Fin asks. “You’re getting a divorce?”

“I’m getting a divorce,” I reply, adding another pack of sugar to my tea and stirring it up.

. . .

I return to the office within the hour and Nate is there waiting for me, along with Melanie, John, and Violette, all with smiles on their faces. I sigh and walk to my new office, which has been outfitted with gold plate letters on its door. I hang up my coat and scarf before slipping my gloves into one of my coats’ pockets and return to the squad room, looking them all over.

“I think of a squad like a family,” I begin, looking at each of them in turn. “I consider all of you excellent workers and I know that you will serve as well if not better under me as you’ve served under Hunter.” I take a breath then. “Families tell each other when something is going on, and I wanted you all to be the first to know that, as of this morning, I’ve filed for divorce against Hunter. All this will mean for all of you is that I’d really appreciate it if you’d refer to me by my maiden name, ‘Holbrook’, instead of my given name, ‘Grayson’, after my given rank. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” they all say.

I smile at them. “Thanks,” I reply. “I guess I’ll be in my office if any of you need me,” I say, giving them each a smile in turn before turning around and heading back to my office.

“Lieutenant,” Nate says, following me in, “I just want to apologize for...”

I raise my hand, keeping my smile. “Thanks, Nate, but it was a long time coming, really.” I sigh a little. “I loved Hunter, really I did, but between you and me, honesty is the best policy.” I shrug. “I guess he didn’t see it that way...” I turn to my desk then and see two manila legal envelopes placed in the dead center of its surface. “And what is this? Have I been served?”

“No, I promise,” Nate replied dutifully. “Besides, I think they have special squads to zero in on your last location in an attempt to find you...” At my raised eyebrows in his direction, he quickly shakes his head. “I watch a lot of legal dramas... And Lifetime movies...”

I try not to laugh as I turn to open the first envelope. Scanning the pages, I see that it is the results of my Captain’s Exam. “It’s the results of my Captain’s Exam,” I say breathlessly, and Nate quickly steps forward and peers over my shoulder. “I passed!” I cry, getting to my feet and letting out a whoop of joy as Nate and I throw our arms around each other. “I’m a captain!”

“Captain Margaret Holbrook!” Nate says, pulling me back as Melanie, Violette, and John step into my office.

“What’s going on?” Melanie asks.

“Everything okay?” Violette wants to know.

“Anybody shoot a gun off in here?” John asks skeptically.

I laugh at that. “No. I just found out I passed the Captain’s Exam,” I reply, a bit breathless at the proclamation.

“Congratulations!” Melanie says, stepping forward and hugging me.

“No one better,” Violette puts in, hugging me as well.

“I suppose this is appropriate, just this once,” John says, allowing himself to embrace me.

“What’s the other envelope?” Nate asks.

“I don’t know,” I reply, turning to look at it and seeing that the return address belonged to the DNA Diagnostics Center. “It’s personal,” I say, forcing a smile and turning back to them. I am pleased when they all four excuse themselves and I force myself to open it as soon as the door is shut behind them.

Scanning the paperwork, the diagnostics center thanks me for sending in my panel to them, and that they successfully ran it against numerous panels within the system and found a match. My heart drops when I read the name printed beside the words _Biological Mother_. I gasp aloud, hands shaking; I never sent in the panel myself, and I can’t think who did, until my mind clicks.

Hurriedly, I put on my coat, scarf, and gloves, returning the paperwork to my coat pocket and tell Nate to look over the squad room. I feel myself turning white as I go down to the parking garage and get into my car; I am hyperventilating as I manage to pull out of there, and go north towards the SVU building. I park in their lot and storm upstairs, tearing through the lobby, my body going through the motions of showing my I.D.—got to get that renewed so as to show off my new rank, I mentally remind myself—and go up to the proper floor. I ignore Olivia, Fin, John, Amanda, and Nick in the squad room before going directly into Don’s office without knocking and slamming the door behind me.

“Maggie, what a nice surprise,” Don says with a smile. “Heard you made Captain, congratulations.”

“Cut the crap, Don,” I reply shakily, taking the DNA paperwork out of the envelope and slamming it down, hard, upon the desk. “Explain this to me, right now, Donald Cragen.”

Don lowers his eyes, reading the heading of the paper before looking up at me. “I called in a few favors. I know you wanted answers but were too reluctant to go out and get them yourself, so I did it for you. What do you think?”

“What do I think?! You made the choice _for_ me, Don,” I whisper, my voice sounding unhinged. “I file for divorce, become Captain of Manhattan Homicide, and find out that one Detective Olivia Benson— _the_ Olivia Benson—is my biological mother! What the hell am I supposed to think?!”

Don practically falls into his seat. “You’ve filed for divorce?”

“This morning,” I whisper, lowering myself into the chair opposite him. “I... I can’t even...” I turn and see Olivia out in the squad room, typing away on her computer, seemingly and blissfully unaware. “Does she know?”

“I don’t think any of us did,” Don replies; when I fix him with a look, he sighs. “I mean, we all suspected...”

“ _All_ of you?!”

He sighs. “Elliot, Fin, John, and I,” he says quietly. “We’ve talked about it on occasion... I remember you coming in here on that night you were assaulted in FAO Schwarz...”

I lower my eyes, remembering too. Don had offered me a hot chocolate and I found myself huddled in the same room where George had interviewed me while I was pregnant with the twins. I was wearing Elliot’s suit jacket in order to keep myself warm, and I hated myself for being beyond attracted to him, even then. Despite all that had happened, my attraction for Elliot had manifested in that night; I spoke to Olivia, because I was more comfortable with her, but something about Elliot’s eyes and comforting nature towards me...

“Maggie?”

I raise my eyes to his, the tears—having been forced to stay away—suddenly found themselves welcomed back into my eyes. “Don...” I shake my head and get shakily to my feet, turning to look at Olivia through the window.

“You going to tell her?” Don asks, resting a comforting hand on my shoulder in his fatherly way.

I turn back to him. “No.” My voice is firm. “And you have to promise not to tell her—or anyone else—either. Please, Don,” I whisper, my voice desperate. “I don’t want her to know.”

“But Maggie...”

“ _Please_ , I’m begging you, Don...”

He sighs, staring past me into the squad room. “Okay,” he says. “I won’t.”

“Ever?” I ask.

He nods, affirming my desires. “Ever,” he replies.


	13. I Can’t Help How I Feel

The first Thanksgiving and Christmas without Hunter didn’t affect me as much as I originally thought it would. Edythe was permitted to spend the holidays with me; I had heard that Hunter had taken a week off from IAB to go to Holiday Valley, an exclusive ski resort in Ellicottville, about six hours away. It didn’t matter to me; I had several people over for the formal dinners—Olivia, John, Don, Amanda, Nick, Nate, Melanie, Violette, Ford (who I now know liked to be called ‘Jimmy’) and Helena’s now-fiancé Sebastian—over for the family-oriented holidays. Fin was unable to attend due to him spending the holidays with Ken and his ex-wife’s family, but he did send over gifts for Edythe and the twins, so that was all well and good.

Edythe was permitted to put the twins to bed and, around nine, Helena went out with Sebastian. John was feeling the day and offered to take Nick and Amanda home for the evening at around nine-thirty, something they accepted. Jimmy offered to escort Melanie home; Melanie, usually known for her tough, no-nonsense attitude accepted, and I took note of the blush on her cheeks as they slipped out around ten. Shortly thereafter, I noticed Nate and Violette kissing as they were helping clean up solo in the kitchen, and they too left around half an hour after Melanie and Jimmy.

I asked Olivia and Don if they would like another glass of wine in the living room and they accepted; I brought the baby monitor in with me as Olivia and I sat on one of the couches while Don sat across from us. Leaning forward to the coffee table between us, I poured the wine; I’d since gotten rid of the couches I’d had whilst being with Elliot; the memories had gotten to be and it had been far too painful to keep those particular pieces of furniture. I handed each of them a glass and smiled at the pair of them; Don and I had had a heart-to-heart about the DNA testing situation, and as long as he agreed not to tell Olivia about her being my biological mother, I was fine with it.

“How have you been?” Olivia asks, sipping her wine.

“Good. Fine,” I reply, sighing a little. “Donnelly has agreed to be the judge on the case, despite her history with Buchanan.”

“Has Hunter contested it?” Don wants to know.

I shake my head. “Oddly, no, and his lawyer swears he’s not going to do so. Some girl from Connecticut—I don’t know her name,” I say when I see that I’ve peaked their interest. “There is the matter of Edythe...”

“What about her?” Olivia asks.

“Well, I told her that Hunter and I discussed it with the lawyers and fixed it so that she can stay at her school and live with Hunter up at the estate and I was really surprised with what her answer to that was...”

“She didn’t go for it, did she?” Don asks.

I shake my head. “No. Apparently, she’s done some research and managed to get an interview at The Spence School over in NYC. The dean seems like a nice enough person and we’ve secured the meeting for the first week of January. I can afford the tuition all right and the woman has already received Edythe’s academic records and feels confident that they can accept her in January.”

“Have you amended the custody agreement, then?” Olivia asks.

I nod. “I have, and Hunter seems to think that as long as the kids are happy, he’ll be happy.”

“You don’t think he’s just giving you what you want so that you’ll go back to him, do you?” Don wants to know.

I shrug. “At this point, I could fight him for custody with the twins for years. But Edythe has a voice in the court system, and in two and a half years, she could decide to live with me full-time without interference. But, this is where we are now, and we have to accept that.”

“So, Hunter never denied the suspicion of the other woman?” Olivia asks, calmly swirling her wine in her glass.

I shake my head. “No. But he could have been in shock. We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” I say with a sigh.

. . . 

Nate had agreed to watch the squad when I headed south to The Spence School with Edythe, all dressed up in a reserved pantsuit as we make our way across town; this meeting had been a long time coming, as a therapist had recommended that we wait until after Edythe’s next birthday before we formally sat down with the headmistress of The Spence School. Usually, I was inclined not to believe such things, but, due to Edythe thriving in the online program, I wasn’t about to tear her away from something she seemed to enjoy so much.

I was dressed similarly to my daughter, and was confident that Edythe will be fine taking the subway on her own back to the house. She was taking an online program in The Master’s School very seriously in the meantime during this transition period so as she wouldn’t get behind; she was perfectly on track at this point in her education and I couldn’t be more proud of her these last few weeks.

I park the car in the guest parking lot, positioning the visitor’s pass which was emailed to us in the dead center of my dashboard before we head inside. I get out of the car, stepping my boots into the snow around us and feel touched as my daughter takes me by the hand as we pass through the double front doors and down the corridor before finding our way to the front office. We are introduced to the headmistress who smiles at each of us in turn and introduces herself, looking quite pleased with Edythe already.

The headmistress smiles and leads us back into her office. “I don’t mean to start off with an insensitive subject, Captain Grayson—”

“Holbrook, ma’am,” I reply with a quick smile, smiling in thanks as she motions for the pair of us to sit. “I am returning to my maiden name. I am in the process of divorcing Edythe’s father.”

“Oh, forgive me, I’m terribly sorry,” she says quickly, sitting across from us and smoothing down her cardigan. “Well, now, Captain Holbrook there _is_ the matter of paperwork, tuition, and the entrance exam. But, from what I can make of Edythe’s progress report,” she says, patting the folder next to her, “everything seems to be in order.” She turns and regards Edythe. “I heard from your current headmistress that you are one grade ahead? You are in your freshman year of high school?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Edythe replies politely, sitting straighter.

“And how do you like it? Do you have a favorite subject?”

“I do well in all my subjects—math and science have always been a bit of a challenge for me,” she confesses softly. “They are my only B’s on my report card, but I have always taken eight classes, from eight to four each day.”

“What are you taking now?” the headmistress asks.

“Algebra, Physical Science, Health and Fitness, English Literature, History of the World, French, Performing Arts, and a mandatory Study Hall,” she replies. “I also take cello lessons, as well as singing lessons.”

“How well do you speak French?” she asks.

“This is my second year taking it,” Edythe replies brightly. “I’ve always gotten good grades on various assignments and projects.”

“She is determined to go to Paris for her spring break with some girlfriends,” I tell the headmistress softly. “She’s quite eager to go, too.”

“I’m sure,” the headmistress chuckles. “Now, Captain Holbrook, we’re fully prepared—based on Edythe’s academic progress and obvious intelligence, politeness, and eagerness to learn—to offer her a full scholarship.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “A... A _full_ scholarship?”

“That’s right,” the headmistress replies. “We offer scholarships to students based on financial situations or academic progress. Edythe, naturally, falls into the second category.”

“Are you serious?” Edythe whispers, shocked.

“Yes, pending your entrance exam, which I’m sure you’ll do fine on. I’ve been made aware that you’re doing some online correspondence with your school at this point, Edythe, which is quite all right. How many credits are you taking? We usually recommend that you take at least thirty per semester.”

“I’m taking forty-five at the moment,” Edythe replies. “I just spend most of my time taking the online quizzes, tests, and turning in various essays...”

“Well, then we may have to advance you further,” the headmistress says. “Who knows? Maybe you’re sophomore class material.” 

. . .

With Edythe safe upon the subway, I make my way across town, confident that my daughter is safe with pepper spray in her pocket. I arrive at the office and slip into my new office, the golden letters which say CAPTAIN MARGARET HOLBROOK gleaming proudly upon the door. Smiling to myself, I hang up my coat and hat before stepping out into the office as Nate comes out of his.

“Where are we at with the new detectives?” I ask him.

“Coming in before noon today,” Nate replies.

“Okay,” I say, relieved that we have something to work with. I hear my phone ringing in my office and I go to take it. “Captain Holbrook,” I say into the receiver, still unused to my new title. “Stabbing in East Midtown? Okay. I’ll send a couple of my detectives right down.” I hang up the phone and stride into the squad room and look at them all. “We got a stabbing in East Midtown,” I say, crossing my arms in a moment of authority. “Violette, Jimmy, I want you two on this one. It’s on Third Avenue—police have it blocked off.”

“What do we know about it?” Jimmy asks, getting his coat on as Violette does the same.

“Woman was grocery shopping, man wanted something in her bag, she refused, and he stabbed her. No rape that we know of, so SVU might not want to sit in on this one. Woman was DOA, so you get what you get.”

Violette nods. “We’ll solve this quickly and get the son of a bitch in here as soon as the murder weapon and prints are found.”

I nod. “Counting on you!” I call after them. I run my hands through my hair and let out a sigh.

“Okay, Maggie?” Nate asks.

“You look tired,” Melanie observes, not unkindly.

“Yeah, fine,” I say to Nate. “Not tired, exactly, Mel,” I say with a smile. “I let Edythe ride the subway on her own for the first time today.”

“Get out!” Nate says, chuckling.

“Finally cut the leash, I see,” Melanie laughs.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes. Turning, I see a young woman with blonde hair and silver eyes walking into the squad room, and wonder if she is there to report something. “Hi, can I help you?” I ask her.

“Hi, Detective Abi Green,” she says with a smile. “I’m from the Seattle Homicide Unit, and I’m here for an interview with a Captain Margaret Holbrook and Sergeant Nate Barnes...”

“You got me,” I say with a smile.

“Right here,” Nate says, stepping forward.

“Mel, hold down the fort out here, will you?” I ask, smiling when she nods as Nate and I take Abi into the office. “Abi... How do you spell that?”

“A-B-I,” she replies in an understanding tone. “Short for ‘Abigail’. My mom had a thing for first ladies,” she says with a laugh.

“Glad to see I’m no longer the only one from that neck of the woods,” I say.

“You’re from Seattle, too?” she asks.

“Technically, no,” I reply, circling my desk and sitting behind it as Nate shuts the door behind him. “I was born here but my parents moved to Seattle when I was a little girl. I’ve been back here for almost seven years now.”

“You’re home away from home, then?” Abi asks.

I nod. “Something like that.”

“So, tell us about yourself,” Nate says.

“Well, I graduated Seattle Police Academy in 2001,” she tells us. “I had been out of high school for about six months before I joined up. I went to college at the same time and got a degree in Criminal Psychology. I was a beat cop for about four years when my partner, Larry Francis, was gunned down in a botched robbery gone wrong in ’05. After that, I took a few months off and then decided to go out for detective. I tried the exam in the spring of ’07 and passed, getting a job at Homicide about three months later. I quit about two months ago after my old captain retired and we got this god-awful one...”

“What was so bad about them?” I ask.

“One of those chauvinist pigs who didn’t believe that women were capable of being cops,” Abi replies, shaking her head. “He would always force me into desk duty and never wanted me to leave the office. He’d treat me like a freaking secretary half the time—getting him coffee and all that jazz—and the other half he was sexually harassing me...”

“Did you report it?” Nate asks.

“Of course, I’m not an idiot,” she replies.

“What’d the department do?” I want to know.

“Not a damn thing because the head of the department was my former captain’s best friend,” Abi replies, gritting her teeth. “My captain said I had to deal with it, put up with it, or leave. I left.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I reply, nodding at Nate for him to check up on this claim, which was only supposed at this point. We spoke to Abi for another fifteen minutes before letting her know that we would call her by the end of next week to let her know, and she seemed satisfied with that and we shook hands with her before she left the squad room. “Nate, do you have contact information with this other detective?” I ask him.

He nods. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good,” I reply. “What’s his name again?”

“Uh, Chester Deacon,” Nate replies, scrolling through his phone. “Yeah, Chester Deacon from Memphis. Should be here by eleven-thirty.”

The clock said it was just after ten, so I told Nate that I would go and file some miscellaneous paperwork in my office until the time came. I told him to check in with Jimmy and Violette when they returned, and slipped back into my office and shut the door behind me, crossing over to my desk and looking over the files and the paperwork that needed sorting. Rolling my shoulders as I sank down into my desk chair as I got to work, I almost didn’t hear my phone beginning to buzz after around twenty minutes of me working.

“Captain Holbrook,” I say into the phone.

“Maggie, it’s Olivia,” says the voice on the other end.

At once, I become ridged in my seat at the tone of her voice. “What is it?” I ask her, the dread apparent in my tone. “What’s wrong?”

“Amanda and I went to check out a case on the subway...”

 _Subway... Edythe was on the subway_! _No_.... “Liv?” I say softly. “Don’t. Please. I can’t... I can’t...”

“I’m so sorry,” Olivia replies. “It’s Maggie. She was attacked...”

“No,” I say, trembling as I get to my feet.

“It was so sudden... She’s unconscious now...”

“Liv...”

“Amanda and I are with her, she’s not alone,” she assures me.

I quickly dash the tears from my eyes and bolt to my coat rack and hurry to get my coat, hat, gloves, and scarf on as I peel out from my office. “Where are you?” I ask her, forcing myself not to tremble too severely.

“Columbus Circle,” Olivia replies.

“I’m on my way,” I reply, hanging up. “Nate,” I say, breathless, and by my tone and expression, he immediately runs to me.

“What is it?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“There was an attack on the subway—Edythe was attacked,” I say, making my voice an octave louder as Melanie approaches. “I need you two to hold down the fort—I have to get down there...”

“No problem, Maggie,” Melanie assures me, patting my arm. “We’ll make Homicide proud.”

“Thank you,” I say to them.

“Hey,” Nate says, putting a hand on my shoulder as I stand in the doorway. “It’ll all be fine, Maggie.”

I shake my head, walking towards the elevator. It dings as it opens for me, and I step inside. “I don’t know about that,” I reply as the doors shut behind me.

. . . 

I take a cab to Columbus Circle and tear down the stairs, nearly falling and twisting my ankle in the process. Everyone in the NYPD seems to clear a path for me as I make my way beyond the red tape and towards the stretcher, where I see Olivia standing with Edythe and Amanda a few feet away, talking to who I assume to be first-responders. I almost feel as if I’m in a bad dream or something, but force myself to wade through the others surrounding me as I make my way towards Olivia, heart in my throat.

“Liv!” I say, and she immediately turns around and pulls me into a hug.

“She’s here, she’ll be okay,” she assures me.

“I’m here, baby,” I whisper, kissing her forehead as they proceed to move the stretcher up the stairs and into the street to meet the ambulance. “You can ride along, Liv. Can you? I mean...please.”

“Rollins!” Olivia calls, and Amanda turns, nodding to me as Olivia crosses over to her. “I’m going to ride along...”

“Okay. I’ll call Fin to finish up here.”

“Thanks,” Olivia says, crossing back towards me and going up the rest of the stairs before hopping into the ambulance beside me.

“What can you tell me?” I ask one of the EMT’s.

“Vaginal trauma, I’m afraid,” she replies.

“No,” I whisper, coming undone then and proceeding to bawl my dread off, as Olivia throws a supportive arm around my shoulder as we tear through the streets towards Mercy Hospital. I force myself to calm down; there can be time for all this emotional trauma later. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I say, clearing my throat and sitting a bit straighter in my seat. “Please. Go on.”

“The doctors will know more, but the tearing suggests that the man was rough with her but...” She sighs a little. “Your daughter wasn’t a virgin, Captain Holbrook. I assume you weren’t aware of this information?”

I nip the inside of my lips at the anger this woman is bringing me. “My daughter was adopted, ma’am,” I reply slowly. “My husband and I adopted her because her mother’s parental rights were terminated because her mother allowed her own boyfriend to rape Edythe. So, yes, I knew that Edythe had been raped, but she was still a virgin, and considered herself to be one.”

The woman looks taken aback by my words and immediately goes to work on trying to stop Edythe’s bleeding. Finally, we arrive at the hospital and I am told to tell them her blood type, which is AB-positive. I head down to the Blood Bank as they take Edythe back to give a pint of blood in order for them to better save her. I feel weaker after the blood is given, but I am going on automatic pilot. I see some detectives waiting in the waiting room, and I put a gentle hand on Olivia’s arm as we near the space.

“Liv, could you tell then I need a minute, please?” I ask her, my voice soft. “I need to call Hunter.”

Olivia nods. “Of course, no problem.”

Once I’m alone in the long, white hallway, I slip into a nook in the wall and take out my phone. I am shocked to find Edythe’s phone in my other pocket, the shiny pink case glittering so harshly it nearly blinds me. I remember presenting it to her for her birthday, although now I wonder if she will ever want to see it again. So the battery won’t die, I shut it off and return it to my pocket as I turn my gaze to my own phone and dial up Hunter.

“Captain Grayson,” he says into the phone.

“Hey, Hunter, it’s me,” I say, forcing the squeaks of emotion out of my voice. “I don’t want to bother you, but there’s been an accident.”

“Twins okay?!” he demands then, all ears.

I shake my head. “No, Hunter. The twins are fine and it isn’t me. It’s Edythe. Our daughter’s been in an accident, Hunter.”

“Where are you?” he asks, trying to keep his cool.

“We’re in Mercy Hospital,” I reply. “Lots of detectives are here and Liv is here with me, too.”

“Where was Edythe? Didn’t you have that school meeting earlier? How did that go?” he wants to know.

I can hear him mumbling to co-workers in the background, making excuses for why he needs to leave early. “Fine,” I reply. “Edythe insisted upon taking the subway today—I offered to get her a cab or take her back to the penthouse but she refused, flat-out, Hunter...”

“Maggie...”

“I know, I know, I screwed up,” I say, feeling the tears come.

“Don’t worry, I’m on my way. Be there in five. Don’t worry.” The line goes dead and I just stand there, numb.

What have I done?! I’d let history repeat itself.

I felt so alone in the world; I remembered two weeks after New Year’s when Stella unexpectedly called me and informed me that Mom and Dad had been driving to their vacation home in Denver, where we’d spent several Christmases due to the excess snow. Jay-Jay, his wife Andrea, Stella and Baxter, and all their children were due to spend Christmas there. However, due to the thick ice on the roads and their late departure time, their car had skidded off the road, flipped over, and crashed sideways into a tree before landing in a ditch. They were killed instantly; I was never invited to the funeral, and I didn’t feel right about gatecrashing. I never got to say goodbye to the parents who raised me, and I’d never said a word about their dying to anyone. It was better for them not to know anything at all, I’d decided...

“Maggie.”

I turned then and saw Hunter; not the Hunter I’d spent the last two years or so hating on, but the man I’d fallen in love with. I found myself letting out a sob as I closed the distance between us and ran to him. I felt immense relief as he held out his arms to me and held me, just held me, as I sobbed into his winter coat. “She was raped,” I whisper to him then.

“What?” he asks, pulling me back, shocked.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “Edythe was raped...”

Hunter could have done a number of things then—screamed at me; belittled my parenting; embarrassed me; a whole number of things, but he didn’t. He merely pulled me back into his arms again. Smoothing my hair, he told me that everything would be okay, that it would work itself out. He took note of the tape on my arm—I must have hung up my coat somewhere—and I whispered to him that I had donated blood for Edythe. He kissed the spot where I’d done it, and I felt my stomach swirling in confusion.

I couldn’t still want Hunter, could I?

I pushed the thought from my mind, pulling out of his arms as a female doctor approached, the name MARIE DAVIS imprinted on her nametag. She calmly told us that Edythe’s body had accepted the blood and that she would wake from her coma soon, soon enough to take the medication to prevent STD’s and pregnancy. I felt relief wash over me, and immense happiness when Hunter and I were told that we could see her. I accepted his arm around me as we walked down the hall towards our daughter’s hospital room, and I wondered then if we would be one of those couples who turned out to be friends after the divorce.

. . .

Edythe was responding well to the treatment and was due to leave the hospital by the end of the week. The Spence School had contacted me and informed me that Edythe had performed excellently on the entrance exam and was due to start when she felt up to it. It also informed us that Edythe would be accepted into the sophomore class, something she was very excited about.

We had filed a report with SVU, the man had been picked from a line-up, and his alibi had successfully been broken. Edythe was permitted to give a videotaped confession as I had done, so many years ago, and soon, she requested that we put the whole thing behind us. The man got four to seven years, which is the best the DA could get under the circumstances. I’d read that unless Edythe was eleven years old or younger, the man wouldn’t be sentenced to twenty-five years, which was the maximum in this state. Angered, but determined to put it behind us as she had asked, I promised not to mention it again if she didn’t do so first.

I returned to work a full week after Edythe had come home from the hospital; with Nate now secured as Lieutenant Barnes, I had complete confidence in him to run the squad for a full week. All hell hadn’t broken lose, so I was quite pleased to have him on my team. He had hired Detective Abi Green—her assessment of her former captain had been correct—and I was quite pleased with all she had done to make the team a better one. I also knew that he had interviewed the other detective, Chester Deacon, solo, and had hired him as well; I met Chester soon after returning to the squad and had been pleased at the hire.

It was the third week of March when Melanie asked to see me one afternoon after lunch and I immediately told her to come into my office. Melanie tucked a strand of her thick, blonde hair behind her ear, looking a bit unsure of herself. She was wearing a purple blouse with black leggings and brown boots that afternoon, and I was pleased that she seemed to put so much pride in her appearance. I told her to sit down and smiled at her.

“Don’t look so nervous, Mel,” I told her with a smile. “You may only be twenty-four but you’re one of the best detectives in the department. I’m not going to lose you, am I?” I want to know.

Melanie immediately shakes her head. “No, no, nothing like that,” she assures me with a nervous laugh. “I just... I wanted to know how you would feel about me taking the Sergeant’s Exam...”

I raise my eyebrows. I knew the position would be up for debate as soon as Nate was promoted, and I also knew that she, Violette, and Jimmy would be the top contenders for it due to seniority. All three had been here for almost two years and I knew that I’d ultimately have to pick one of them for it eventually. Out of all the detectives, I found I liked Melanie that most; Jimmy was a bit too brash while Violette was far too sensitive but Melanie... “I think that’s an incredible idea,” I told her, grinning.

She let out a sigh of relief. “Really?” she asks.

I nod at her. “Absolutely. I was going to pull you, Jimmy, and Violette aside separately eventually and let you know that one of you would be considered... You are the first one who’s come forward and asked...”

“Can I go for it?” she wants to know. “Can I take the exam?”

“Of course,” I tell her. “It’s very sweet of you to ask my permission, Mel, but you really didn’t need it. You could have passed the test and I could’ve told you I wasn’t promoting you, but that’s just silly.”

“So... I can take it?”

“By all means,” I tell her. “You take the exam, pass it, and the position is yours. I mean, Sergeant Sorenson.”

“It does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” she asks, still unsure.

I nod. “Yes. Absolutely. It’ll sound great.”

. . .

I told Edythe that I still wasn’t sold on the idea of her travelling to Paris with a few girlfriends over spring break. As April dawned, I knew that I’d be seen as ‘the bad guy’ if I didn’t let her go, and that killed me. However, when I found out that it was just going to be four girls, and two of the mothers were going, I told Edythe that she can I could make a deal. If she helped out with the twins as much as possible, and if I got to meet the moms of her friends, and did background checks on them, and if they came up clean, she could go.

Mrs. Marissa O’Hara and Mrs. Tabitha Marks came over one sunny afternoon when Helena had taken the twins to the park and Edythe was at the mall. It was a rare Saturday that I had off, with Nate in charge of the squad, and me, wearing a semi-formal pantsuit, making a cheese, meat, fruit, and vegetable platter in the kitchen as I waited for Marissa and Tabitha. I had made my own hummus and other dips and set them all out on the table in the living room when the women arrived, all smiles and friendliness.

I made the guess that Marissa was in her early thirties while Tabitha was in her late thirties as they entered my house. I took their sweaters and hung them up in the hall before I led them into the living room. They liked the architectural style of the building, as well as some of the art pieces I’d either got at auction or inherited from my parents—they’d still kept me in their will, and I’d gotten a third of their money, valuing about three million. I quickly thanked them and asked them to sit down, giving them glasses the sparkling water that Edythe assured me that was all the rage and their favorite drink.

“Edythe is such a charming young woman,” Tabitha gushed.

“So well-mannered,” Marissa put it. “She told us she was adopted?”

I nod. “Yes, she was. I met her when she was seven when I was still an officer, and adopted her when she was about nine.”

“You’re a captain now?” Tabitha wants to know.

I nod. “Yes. Captain of Manhattan Homicide.”

“Is that something you always wanted to do?” Tabitha asks, genuinely curious. “Be a cop?”

“Oh, goodness, no,” I reply, laughing a little. “I actually was accepted into The Julliard Drama School after I graduated high school.”

“What changed?” Marissa asks, chewing on a bright green celery stick.

“Yeah. From actress to cop—it’s quite a leap,” Tabitha notes, chewing on a ripe strawberry. “I was actually raised in Seattle, but I was born here,” I reply. “After quite a bit of begging, my late mother agreed to take me on a trip to New York as a graduation present providing that I graduated in one of the top ten of my class...”

“How high did you get?” Marissa wants to know.

I blush. “Doesn’t matter...”

“Come on!” Tabitha says, patting my arm. “No judgement—promise.”

I sigh. “All right. I was the valedictorian,” I reply, softly.

“Top of the class?” they cry.

“That’s amazing!” Marissa gushes. “I was the salutatorian at my school when I graduated.”

“Third honors,” Tabitha informs me.

“So you got to New York,” Marissa says. “Then what?”

“We saw a show,” I tell her. “Went to all the hottest restaurants and just had a lot of fun,” I reply. “Then, on one of our last days, we went to FAO Schwartz and my life changed forever...”

“Wait a minute,” Tabitha says, giving a look of horror at Marissa. “You weren’t attacked by the Toy Store Terrorist, were you?”

“The Toy Store Terrorist?” I ask. “I didn’t know he had a name...”

“Six women came forward—all white, all upper-class, all...virgins,” Marissa whispers to me. “He was a serial rapist that had an M.O.”

“Did you know anyone who was attacked?” I ask them.

“We were,” Tabitha replies. “His last reported victim was in June of ’03...”

“Me,” I whisper. “He went to jail after I made my statement...”

“I was raped in January if ’02 and Tabitha was raped in October,” Marissa tells me while Tabitha nods. “Small world...”

“Did you report it?” I ask.

“Damn right I did,” Tabitha replies. “My mother made me be real quiet about it, but I reported it.”

“Me too,” Marissa adds. “He got me pregnant—my mother made me refuse to take the medication to prevent it. I gave the baby up for adoption.”

“I’m so sorry this happened to you,” I reply. “Did you ever talk to anyone about it, you know, outside your family?”

Tabitha shrugs. “Not really. The therapist my mom made me go to was a quack and Marissa’s ‘treatment’ was this religious camp where they made her feel bad about getting pregnant in the first place.”

“Oh, god, that’s awful!” I reply. I reach for my bed, placed upon the end table, and give them each Olivia’s card. “This is a detective friend of mine over at the Manhattan Special Victim’s Unit,” I tell them gently. “Why don’t you give her a call sometime? She’s very nice.”

“Thank you,” Tabitha says.

“Yeah, thanks,” Marissa says gratefully.

I smile. “It’s my job,” I tell them. “It’s my job to help people. Yeah, being a cop is a big leap from wanting to be an actress, but I think that helping people solve why and how their loved ones were murdered is far better than making people laugh for a brief period of time.”

. . .

I was shocked when John Buchanan called me and informed me that Hunter wanted to set up a meeting in regards to the divorce. Apparently, John said that one meeting would straighten everything out and that we could move on from all this. I wondered what he meant—did he think that I could be bought off and surrender my rights to our children? Did he think that I’d come crawling back to him after all this time?

My mind swimming, I did my best not to lose my mind as I made my way across town to John Buchanan’s law firm. I met John at the door and he looked practically as white as a sheet. He guided me to the employee lounge; it was a Sunday, so there weren’t any lawyers on duty, and he told me to sit down. He got us some coffee and I wondered why he would be stalling right now. Tapping my fingers impatiently against the arm of the couch—a run-of-the-mill number with fat white and green stripes—I wondered why he was using these childish and annoying stalling tactics. Was he attempting to tell me something?

He attempted to give me a cup of coffee but I refused. He sipped his slowly, grimacing ever so slightly at its more than likely gritty flavor. I wanted to smash the vase of violets from the center coffee table—was Hunter even here with his lawyer, or had we been stood up? I didn’t know what to think, although I did begin to wonder what I would do differently to the employee lounge. Whoever had originally or previously decorated it had no sense of taste at all...

I answered a few emails on my phone as I waited, my brand-spanking-new Galaxy S III released to me under-the-table; it was not due out for another month. We top-notch police officers always had new kinds of technology, and while I usually did pass up the opportunity, I found I enjoyed this sleeker model of phone, and the touch screen was just an added bonus. Nibbling at my lip, I informed Olivia that I’d be late for lunch—with Amanda, who I’d gotten closer to since Edythe had been assaulted—due to these godforsaken stalling tactics.

Finally, John gave up sipping his coffee and got to his feet, pouring the rest of the hot beverage down the sink and told me to follow him out of the employee lounge and down the hallway. Following him through the halls that gave me flashbacks to boarding school, I found myself growing tense. Perhaps this stalling tactic was in my best interests—maybe Buchanan was trying to get Hunter to give up his parental rights by doing this. My heart skipped a beat; yes, I wanted full custody, but I didn’t want Hunter _not_ to see Edythe and the twins...

John Buchanan opened the door to his office then, letting out a small sigh as the door squeaked, informing the pair of people sitting at a long table of our arrival. I watched as Hunter got to his feet, flattening his neck tie against him and nodding to the woman seated across from him. I found myself shivering involuntarily as the woman got to her feet, her back to me, her raven hair perfect.

“Hello, Maggie,” Hunter says with that smile of his. “I’d like you to meet my lawyer, Rebecca Rosewood.”

The woman called Rebecca turns around, looking coolly, yet not in an unfriendly manner, at me then. She regards me silently for a moment before putting out a perfectly manicured hand. “It’s Rebecca, of course, Maggie,” she says, smiling, her pearly whites gleaming alongside her perfectly red lips.

I almost don’t move as I let out a gasp then. “Nice to meet you,” I manage to get out before rushing to sit beside John Buchanan.

I can’t believe it.

I _don’t_ believe it.

Rebecca Rosewood is the woman in the photographs with Hunter and Edythe.


	14. Cards on the Table

“...and that’s when I decided that it wasn’t worth it, so I ended things with him,” I hear Olivia saying faintly. “So what do you think?”

I don’t answer her; I’m completely lost in my bowl of soup.

“Maggie? Maggie?”

I start then, nearly losing control of my soup spoon and getting some on my new pantsuit. Shaking a little, I stir the thick consommé furiously, desperate to get the perfect image of Rebecca Rosewood out of my mind. “Sorry, Liv. You ended things with Brad?” I ask.

“Yeah, I said that,” she says, clearly slightly irritated. She reaches out then, closing the distance between us on the small surface area we have to work with at this small, round table in this tiny little café in Alphabet City. She grips my wrist firmly so as my hand stops attempting to cause a whirlpool in my soup. “Maggie. Come on, talk to me. What’s with you?”

I raise my eyes to her; it is difficult to make her out, as she is blurry, due to the onset of tears which have entered my eyes. _Tell her, now_ , my mind is screaming at me. _You’re running on adrenaline... Come on, Holbrook. It’s now or never_... And then comes the cop out. “That P.I. that Buchanan hired got it wrong,” I say softly, finally letting go of my spoon.

“What?” she asks, concern in her voice. “What are you talking about?”

I sigh, withdrawing my hand from her grip; I massage my temples in an effort to clear my head before properly speaking to her. “Apparently, Lacey Monroe is an alias or something, I don’t know. Her real name is Rebecca Rosewood, and she’s Hunter’s lawyer.”

“A lawyer? Damn,” Olivia says, shaking her head. “That’s really cold—cheating on your wife with a lawyer...”

“My mom always told me never to fall for a lawyer,” I observe quietly.

“Did she give a reason?”

I nod. “Yeah. She said they were professional liars due to the fact that they have the capacity to represent reprehensible people.”

Olivia laughs at that. “There are some good lawyers out there, Maggie.”

I nod. “You’re right. I heard you and... Well, you talk about Alex Cabot before she was gunned down, entered witness protection, came back to testify, and was given a new identity before she came back for a while... And then there was Casey, who I met in my first night in New York...”

“First night?” Olivia asks, playfully.

I smile at that, turning my gaze back to my autumn squash colored soup. “My first night of new beginnings,” I clarify. “A lot’s happened to me over the years...”

Olivia raises her cappuccino mug. “But it’s not over yet.”

I nod, raising my cup of tea and gently chiming it with her mug. “Not over yet,” I reply, steadily.

. . .

I step into the squad room later that afternoon, feeling rejuvenated after my lunch with Olivia. I ask Nate to brief me on any new cases before I go into my office and go over some cold case files sent over by the Cold Case Unit. Serial homicides have always been a common criminal activity and, after John Munch worked with them, they figured that I, too could provide some insight. Thumbing through some old documents, my head began to swim rather uncomfortably and I found myself pushing away from my desk and ambling over towards my window.

The sun had decided to make an appearance and it looked as if it would be a rather pleasant afternoon. Rolling my shoulders, I debated getting the temporary laptops from the lock up and telling the squad that we should do our computing outside that afternoon. Chuckling to myself at such a ridiculous notion, I took off my heavy sweater and returned to my desk in only my blouse and suit pants. Crossing my legs beneath the table, I tapped my fingers upon the obtuse documentation and wondered if I’d be able to provide any insight whatsoever to the CCU.

Looking up, I see a young man in a suit step into the squad room and ask for someone or something, and Melanie gets to her feet, identifying herself. The man hands over a manila envelope with a quick smile and a word before slipping out of the squad room. Thinking one of my detectives has been served, I am up from my desk and am opening my office door and traipsing into the room proper, raising my eyebrows at the envelope.

“What do we have here?” I ask, nodding to it.

“She’s not in any legal trouble,” Johnny assures me, rubbing Melanie’s shoulders, and I find I am pleased rather than offended at this public display of affection. “Go ahead, Mel. Tell us the news.”

Flushing ever so slightly and clearing her throat on a giggle, Melanie eagerly rips her envelope open and pulls out a piece a paper. “It’s the results of the Sergeant’s Exam,” she says breathlessly as Nate, Violette, Abi, and Chester all gather around the three of us to get the information as quickly as possible. “I...passed,” she whispers, shaking from head to toe. “I’m in the top ten!” she says, and Johnny immediately takes her by the waist and swings her around the room. “Johnny, careful, please!” she cries, throwing her head back and laughing like a girl as I manage to snag the paper away from her to get a good look at it.

“You placed sixth!” I cry out, memorized. “That’s fantastic! I placed ninth when I did mine,” I say, chuckling a bit.

“Seventeenth,” Nate says with a chuckle, and I see that he’s put an arm around Violette while she has her head on his shoulder. “In any case, Mel, you should be very proud of your accomplishments. I mean, we’re all proud of you, aren’t we everybody?”

“Very proud,” Violette assures Melanie.

“Completely,” Abi puts in.

“Congratulations,” Chester says.

I step forward then, after Johnny has set Melanie down and has given her a rather passionate congratulatory kiss, and put out my hand. “Well now, Sergeant Sorenson, we’ll have to see about getting you the big desk. I think it should be in the center of the room,” I say. “Yeah... That works out. I know in the past we had it by the captain’s office, but now I think that the detectives can be on straight rows while your desk can be in the direct center of the room. That way we have eyes everywhere... What say you, Mel? You’re third-in-charge now.”

Melanie laughs, breathlessly. “I guess I am,” she says, putting her hands on her hips, her detective’s badge gleaming.

“Wait a moment,” I say, laughing as I slip into my office and return with a second manila envelope. “They delivered it this morning,” I say, handing over the small package to her.

Melanie, perplexed, opens it, the eagle gold color of her new badge shining up at her, the words NEW YORK STATE POLICE adorning the top, while SERGEANT SORENSON adorns the bottom, with 5015 directly above her new title. “Thank you,” she says softly.

I smile at her. “Thank _you_ ,” I say. “Thank you for serving your department so faithfully and wonderfully. But this was top secret,” I say. “They just let me hang onto it for now so you could see it. You’ll get it officially when you have your Sergeant Ceremony in a couple of weeks.”

“That was so nice of you,” she replies, slipping the badge back into the envelope and handing it back to me. “Thank you.”

I take back the envelope and nod at her. “No problem, sergeant,” I reply.

. . . 

Once Melanie was formally made Sergeant Sorenson, I had even more faith in my squad than before. With a lieutenant and a sergeant, I was able to divide and conquer—literally. I put Melanie in charge of Violette and Abi and Nate in charge of Jimmy and Chester, and I looked over cases while Nate and Melanie would prep them beforehand. While this was going on, I tried to forget about Rebecca Rosewood and the fact that she’d successfully broken up my marriage twofold, and now she was helping Hunter in picking up the pieces.

I left Nate and Melanie in charge on afternoon as I headed to SVU; I needed to be near where Elliot had been; I couldn’t explain it, really. I’d taken to walking directly into the unit through Don’s door; I hadn’t managed to go in through the main entryway alone since the shootout—the last time I’d seen Elliot. A lump in my throat, I made the call to Don as I was going across town, and he agreed that it would be beneficial for me to walk through the main doors alone.

I parked my car in the lot parallel to the precinct and made my way through the front doors and up the stairs before pressing the correct button upon the elevator’s outside panel. Stepping inside after the chrome double doors dinged, I pressed the proper button and nibbled at my lips as the doors closed behind me. I forced myself not to grab the hilt of my gun as I shuffled from foot to foot and waited for the doors to open before me. Finally, the ding came and I forced myself to step over the threshold and into the main hallway. Turning right, I made my way down the corridor and stood just feet away from the main doors. Shutting my eyes, I saw myself standing there as shots were fired, and the screams of shock and surprise from the poor people and detectives who just so happened to be there right at that moment in time.

Then, I remembered Elliot raising his gun, but no bullet coming out, and my fast acting and shooting that poor girl. Watching her die in his arms as I proceeded to bleed out, and his cry of anguish when he realized that I had been hit as well by that one stray bullet. I remembered his strong arms around me as I’d forced myself to come to, and how much I’d longed for him to give me that look that he’d done when I was bleeding onto the squad room floor. I’d felt loved by Detective Elliot Stabler in that moment, and I found at that moment that a part of me would always be head over heels in love with the man who had been beneficial in my sexual awakening as a young woman.

Opening my eyes, I let go of the hilt of my gun for the last time and straightened my back before turning the final corner and stepping over the threshold. I saw Olivia smiling at me, a proud look in her eyes—Don must’ve told her the purpose of my visit. Nick looked on proudly, as did Amanda, although they themselves probably never would quite understand the horrors of that day. Fin came and threw an arm around my shoulders as I stepped completely inside, and John just smiled in his quiet, intelligent way. I realized then that I felt safe with all of them—although to a lesser extent with Nick and Amanda, but I knew that my faith and trust in them would come, in time.

“Captain’s waiting for you,” Fin says softly, and I motion to Olivia that I will speak to her later as I cross over to Don’s office and knock on the door.

“Come on in,” he says, and I slip inside. “Hey,” he says, and I feel secure once I see him beaming. “How are you?”

I shrug. “Fine, as can be expected,” I say, shutting the door behind me and perching on one of his chairs. “Although after the last couple of weeks, I don’t know anymore, Don... I mean, all this had really been happening so quickly and I feel...I don’t know...undeserving...”

“Undeserving?” Don asks, confused. “You? Come on.”

“No, I’m serious,” I reply. “The twins are two years old and Edythe’s fourteen and I suppose I feel as if I’m losing them...”

“Losing them? Come on,” Don says. “You’ve got years with the twins and, who knows, maybe Edythe’ll want to attend college here... Besides, you’ve still got another month of this school year, plus her junior and senior years...”

“While Edythe was in Paris, she signed up for a class,” I say softly. “Everyone encouraged her not to do it—it was a three-month class and she’s only off for two weeks for spring break. But Edythe got the literature by herself, on her own, and did three months of work in two weeks.”

“Three months of...? That’s crazy!” Don says.

I nod at that. “I know! And then her school worked out that since she was able to do all that, they gave her another exam...”

“For what?” Don asks, confused.

“To test whether or not sophomore classes were too easy for her,” I say, shaking my head. “I barely passed with average grades throughout school...”

A smile plays at Don’s lips. “Average? You?”

“Okay, fine. My lowest grades were high B’s but my parents didn’t like it. By the middle of my sophomore year, they said that low A’s were as low as I could go—got me a tutor and everything, and that’s how I met my first boyfriend, Bobby Thompson... We went out until the following Christmas and he tried to pressure me into sex but I was so staunchly Catholic at the time that I refused...”

“You think you were too young?”

I shrug. “I’ll never know, will I? I was pretty much banned from my parent’s lives after I decided to have an abortion... Can’t tell you how many times I go to bed at night thinking I’ve lived a thousand lifetimes...”

“How old are you now, Maggie?”

I laugh at that. “Twenty-six,” I reply. “I’ll be twenty-seven in two months. I almost can’t believe that I’m almost thirty.”

“You could retire at forty then, if you wanted to, and still live a full life,” Don tells me softly.

I shake my head. “I _thought_ my full life was going to be with Hunter, but those thoughts clearly got shot in the face...”

“Don’t give up,” Don tells me.

I sigh, feeling deflated. “You know I think I’ll take Edythe and the twins away for the summer,” I say softly.

“Good idea,” he says. “Where do you think?”

“Well, Florida is out of the question, and so is Paris,” I say with a laugh. “Maybe a cruise or something... Summer has fantastic deals and maybe it would be nice to get away with them for a while... Maybe I can even persuade Helena to come with me, and Sebastian, as an early wedding present...”

“You’re a generous boss,” Don says with approval.

I laugh. “I can be,” I reply.

. . . 

“ _Summer_?!” Edythe screeches, causing the twins to squeal in protest, prompting Helena to whisk the two of them out of the room. “But... I had plans already! I wanted to go somewhere with Dad...”

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to smile at her. “Dad has an undercover mission this summer, sweetheart,” I reply, which was pretty much true, as it was something I’d heard from the cop grapevine. “And, like I’ve told you, I’ve got custody of the three of you and you can only go with him if I say you can.”

Edythe lets out a petulant huff and flops down upon the couch, her legs sprawled, her arms crossed. “Why?” she whines.

I sigh, flopping down on the other end of the couch. “Because I think it’d be good for us,” I reply, putting my hand lightly upon her leg. “Come on.” I know there has to be an incentive here somewhere, although the obvious ones—iPod, laptop, cell phone—are all taken, and she is too young for a car or driving lessons... “Okay. I have the website saved,” I say, making a grab for my own laptop, positioned on the coffee table. I open it up, smiling at the screensaver from a year ago of Edythe and the twins on the twins’ first birthday, and type in my password before managing to find my favorite browser and clicking the ‘bookmarks’ tag and finding it. “Here,” I say to her, positioning the laptop between us, pleased that I’ve managed to have piqued her interest. “Look. Look at all these places we have to choose from, sweetie...”

She raises her eyes to mine. “So, what? I get to help pick or something?”

I nod. “You get a vote, yeah.”

Satisfied, Edythe claps her hands. She reaches forward, tentatively, and clicks the _destinations_ button and looks through it. “Wow! This one has a European tour!” she crows, truly excited.

I smile, pleased that she’s happy. “Why don’t you read me the information?” I ask, handing over the laptop to her.

“Well, we’d leave from the Manhattan Port and be on the boat for three days and then end up in Portsmouth, which is about a two-hour drive from London. We have two days there and then we get back on the boat and go for another two days and then we’d end up in Amsterdam. Three days later, after a two-day stay, we’d go to Copenhagen, for two days, and then to Oslo for two days and then to Stockholm for two days before going back to the Manhattan Port.”

“So, a few weeks?” I say, nodding to myself. “I’ll bet it’s booking fast...”

“Only a few cabins left,” Edythe agrees.

Quickly, I swipe my computer from her and type in the proper information: I was shocked and delighted when Helena said she would keep the twins in her room, which meant that we could get two suites for the price of one, according to the website. I explained to Edythe that we would share a room, but that we’d have different beds, and she seemed fine with it. I had been sad for Helena that her fiancé Sebastian would be unable to come, who had just begun his residency and couldn’t get away. I informed Edythe that she would need to help me do the shopping for the twins and that she could get some new outfits as well, and soon the trip was booked.

I gave Nate notice at work that I’d be gone for almost a month and that he and Melanie would be in charge during my absence. He seemed to take the news well and promised that he and Melanie would run the squad well. On the eve of my departure from New York, I was surprised when the gang invited me out to Valbella, Violette’s favorite restaurant in Midtown. I felt a little out of place, since Melanie and James had paired up, along with Violette and Nate, but was pleased at least that Abi and Chester were going stag, so I decided not to let the whole arrangement get to me.

When we arrived at the restaurant, we were shown to The Fifth Avenue Room, and I remembered that it had a minimum capacity of twelve, and was shocked when no money was exchanged clandestinely. We were shown to the room, all done up in purple hues, and I was delighted to see Olivia, Nick, Amanda, John, Fin, and Don all in there waiting for us, and we made thirteen. I cross to sit with Olivia and Fin after embracing Don, and soon our very own waiter arrives to ask us what we’d all like to drink. I take his recommendation on a fine pinot noir while Olivia opts for a burgundy-colored merlot.

We make small talk, sipping our beers and wines, with the exception of Don, who merely sips a glass of ice water and listens attentively. I remembered when we were undercover and Fin had whispered to be about Don’s alcoholism, but I’d never brought it up with him myself. When the waiter returned about ten minutes later, I ordered something called a scaloppini martini and listened attentively to what everyone else ordered, not surprised when most of the men ordered some variation of a steak. We keep the conversation going, and about a half an hour later, the waiter returns with a cart and presents all our food to us, and I am quite shocked when a man who appears to be the doppelganger of Giada De Laurentiis all but sashays into the private dining room.

“What a pleasure it is to know that I’m serving some of New York’s Finest this evening,” she says, with a smile and a wave to all.

“Wow,” Olivia and I whisper together.

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Giada De Laurentiis,” she says with a perfect amount of humbleness. “I’m filling in for my dear friend Chef Joe Giordano, who unfortunately couldn’t be here tonight,” she tells us all with a flourish. “Please tell me how everything is, and I do hope you save room for dessert,” she tells us with a smile before motioning to the waiter to leave us alone to eat.

“Nice lady,” Fin remarks, looking down at his Filetto di Manzo Peppercorn. “Can’t believe she made all this for us...”

Olivia picks up her fork, inspecting her Pollo Diavolo. “She certainly puts plenty of presentation into it,” she adds.

We all of us finish our meal and look around at one another, and it becomes apparent that dessert will be a must for this evening. We inform Giada of what we want—I get a crème brulee while everyone else gets a variety of pastries and cream-like confections—and soon our smaller plates are brought. I raise my eyebrows ever so slightly when champagne is brought, and Don insists on sticking with his water, something I deeply commend him for. We all of us eat our various desserts and our champagne—except for Don—and I’m quite surprised when Nate gets to his feet.

“Everybody, everybody,” he says, lifting his champagne glass and tapping it gently with his knife. “Can I have your attention, please?” he asks as we all turn and look at him. “I’d like to thank you all for being here—Homicide, especially Maggie, thank you,” he says, with a smile to me, to which I return a nod. “And to all my friends at SVU, thank you so much. Well, you’re here on a very special night, because now I’m going to do something that I never thought I’d have the guts to do at all...” He then gets on one knee before Violette, who turns about fifty shades of red as she watches Nate reach into his pocket and produce a lovely two-carat, oval-cut diamond ring. “Violette Clara Fairfax, would you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming my wife?”

I find Olivia’s hand next to mine and, at the very same moment, we two clasp them together tightly, waiting for Violette’s answer.

Violette’s eyes fill with tears as she nods eagerly. “Yes, yes, Nate,” she says, and lets out a nervous giggle. “I will marry you.”

We all of us soon break into applause as Nate slips the ring onto Violette’s finger and Violette gently pulls him by his tie and kisses him. I find I am pleased for the pair of them, really I am. Yet I find I cannot shake the feeling that Hunter and I were once like that, once so trusting of one another, once so in love...

. . . 

Edythe and I have managed to shop until we dropped for a full week after she gets out of school. She asks to go camping in Connecticut at one of her friends’ cabins and I accept, knowing she will want a little independence this summer before we go off on the cruise. She returns a few days before we’re due at the port, and I’m pleased when her newly-issued passport comes on time. Edythe balks at the picture, but I whisper to her that my first passport photo wasn’t so great either, and even go so far as to show her. It gets a laugh out of her, and I’m pleased that she’s helping Helena with the twins before the trip.

The five of us then depart from the penthouse about two hours before the boat is due to leave the dock. We hail a van cab and stuff our suitcases into the back before slipping into the backseat. I am pleased that my request for car seats for the twins didn’t go ignored, and Edythe and Helena entertain them as I go over our itinerary for the day. Finally, we arrive at the docks and, once our bags are checked, Helena journeys inside to find her cabin to put the twins down for a nap while Edythe and I see about going to get a snack.

We find a place aptly called COFFEE & CAKE BAR and step up and get a table and pour over the menu before us. “What are you thinking of?” I ask.

“Maybe a Coconut Frappuccino,” she replies. “With a slice of red velvet... How about you, Mom?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. A tea with a slice of white with buttercream,” I guess. “I know, I know. Boring, right?”

“What about the rum caramel?” she asks.

I roll my eyes. “Sweetie, you know I hardly ever drink...”

“Mom, it’s a cake...”

I chuckle a bit. “Yes, I know, sweetheart. But I can still taste the hint of alcohol and I’m just not in the mood for that right now...”

“No harm in living a little, you know?” she asks.

I nod. “I know.”

. . .

Three and a half weeks later, Edythe and I return to Manhattan from the cruise. Not only had we gotten a generous tan, but we’d gotten plenty of new outfits to last a lifetime—well, maybe a season, at least. After being home for two days, I return to the squad room, and Melanie, Violette, and Abi all run to embrace me, as does Nate, while Jimmy claps me on the shoulder and Chester shakes my hand. They all want to hear about my trip, and I promise to tell them every detail over drinks. I go into my office, and am pleased at how immaculate Nate has kept things in my absence, and find myself secure at leaving him in charge of the squad more often, now that he’s been given a proper shot.

I receive a call from Olivia two days later, asking if we can do lunch, and I ask Nate to keep watch over the squad as I head out to do so. When I arrive at a lovely soup, salad, and sandwich place in Midtown called Triple S, I give her a hug and slip into my bag for the scarf I selected for her in Copenhagen. Olivia thanks me profusely and puts it on right then and there, due to the cold, early September day us New Yorkers are faced with.

“I need to talk to someone besides Don about this,” she says softly, wrapping her hands around her mug of coffee.

“Talk about what?” I ask, thanking the server as she pours me a cup of tea before she slips away. “Is it serious?”

She nods. “Yes.” She sips her coffee methodically, and rolls her shoulders, and it is then where I know where I get that particular trait from. “I never told you that I had a brother, did I?”

I nearly choke on my tea. “No. I always thought that your mom, Serena, only had you...”

Olivia nods. “That’s true. My brother is paternal, and only a half-brother. His name is Simon, and he’s my father’s younger child.”

I inch forward slightly; I just couldn’t believe it; I had an uncle. I actually had an honest-to-god uncle. _Calm down now, Holbrook. You’re twenty-seven years old and the Captain of Manhattan Homicide. Keep your cool_... “You haven’t mentioned him before,” I say casually.

She nods. “Yeah, he’s just... Really personal,” she says, giving me a nervous laugh and shaking her head.

“Why are you mentioning him?” I want to know.

She sighs. “Well, you know how I haven’t been really able to meet much? I said I had a backlog of cases since Elliot left...”

I force myself to remain neutral at the mention of his name. “Sure,” I reply, nodding adding another packet of sugar to my tea. “Why wouldn’t I understand? I mean, of course I understand... Family troubles?” I ask.

She sighs again. “Something like that. Simon... Simon got himself into a bit of hot water...”

My eyebrows come together at that. “Legal trouble? What happened?”

“Well, him and his fiancée were accused of child abuse,” she says softly.

I lose control of my spoon and it clatters to the side of my tea cup. “C-child abuse?” I manage to get out. “No...”

Olivia nods. “’Fraid so. His fiancée had a son from a previous relationship, and then they had a daughter, Olivia...”

My throat swells ever so slightly... _Simon seems to care as much about Olivia as you do, Holbrook_... “ACS stepped in after the suspicion of the abuse became semi-public record after the social worker made a report?” I ask.

Olivia sips her coffee, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, and it escalated to them seizing the children for their own ‘safety’. Long story short, Simon and his fiancée decided to take the children...”

“...and were subsequently charged with kidnapping,” I say, rubbing my temples and nibbling at my bottom lip. “God, I couldn’t imagine...”

“The system is in place to work with people, when in fact it frequently works against them,” Olivia tells me. “His fiancée took a plea, and re-gained custody of the children, while Simon’s locked up for three years for custodial interference, which he got on a plea deal. They’ve decided to review his case in a year, but until then...”

“It’s out of your hands,” I say softly. “Wait... You’re not telling me all this because you think that I could somehow get Simon out, are you?”

Olivia sighs. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it,” she confesses, adding some milk to her coffee. “But I don’t want to abuse my friendship with you, Maggie, really.”

I give her a tight smile. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.” It is then that my phone vibrates in my pocket and I go to check it. “Sorry, it’s Hunter,” I say, and Olivia motions for me to take the call. “Hey, Hunter. Everything okay?”

“I need to talk to you, Maggie. Now.”

I sigh. “Can’t this wait? I’m with Olivia...”

“No, it really can’t. Please.”

I sigh, mouthing ‘sorry’ to Olivia, who looks totally understanding. “All right. I gave Helena permission to take the twins to her mother’s house tonight, and Edythe is spending the weekend at a friends’ house. Want to come by the penthouse later tonight?”

“No. I need to see you in my office, Maggie. Please.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. I’ll just send a text to Nate telling him that I’ll be a little longer. I should be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thanks, Maggie. Really.”

“No problem,” I reply, hanging up. “He was really insistent, I’m so sorry,” I say, wincing a little at Olivia. “I’ll tell them to split the check and we...”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll get this one.”

“Liv...”

She holds up her hand. “Please. Come on. You’re my friend, Maggie. I know you would do the same for me if the roles were reversed.”

I nod. “You’re right.” I quickly put on my autumn coat, hat, and scarf to ward off the autumn chill and embrace Olivia before making my way towards the exit. I take my keys from my pocket and automatically unlock my car, before getting into it and successfully merging into traffic on the first try. Suffice it to say that I was more than a little annoyed at the prospect of seeing my soon-to-be ex-husband in a location that was not a courtroom or an attorney meeting. However, I just crossed my fingers that he didn’t want to amend the custody agreement—asking for joint custody at this point would be suicide, literally.

I park in the parking lot of 1 Police Plaza a little over twenty minutes later and make my way through the main doors, flashing my badge so as nobody stops me from my pursuit of Hunter’s office. I make my way to the elevator, clicking the button for the proper floor, tapping my foot impatiently until the ding sounds and I step inside, internally vomiting at the completely awful carpeting job they’d done in there. You knew you were going to your doom anyway if 1PP contacted you, and the intricate, _Inception_ -inspired shapes on the carpeting below me probably wouldn’t help anyone mentally.

I step into the hallway leading to the lobby, which then broke off into separate departments where Hunter, Ed Tucker, and Timothy Wilkes—who had since been promoted to Sergeant—kept their offices, complete with their own personal foyers and secretaries. I slip into the middle office, Hunter’s domain, and give a half-hearted wave to Sheila, his personal secretary. An outspoken lesbian and proponent for LGBT rights, she was a very vocal individual, and I knew that Hunter had honesty on his side when he’d hired her. She flashed me a smile, and I found myself touched by it, peering briefly at the photograph on her desk of her and her wife, Jessica, at their Rhode Island vacation home, with their twin ten-year-old sons—Danny and Philip—as well as the family dog, Milo.

I knock on Hunter’s door, and hear him giving me permission to enter, and as I step over the threshold, I find I am raising my eyebrows at my husband. He’s finally gotten rid of his beard, as well as cut his hair short again, something I’d asked him repeatedly to do, but gave up when I thought he’d actually wanted it that way. _Girlfriend probably asked him to do it_ , I remind myself, putting a tight smile onto my face as I shut the door behind me.

“You look great, Maggie,” Hunter remarks affably. “The cruise looks like it worked wonders—I follow Edythe’s Instagram and she posted about all the highlights throughout the weeks...”

I nod. “Thanks.” Sighing then, I find myself gripping the back of one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Hunter... Can we be serious for a moment, please?”

“Sure,” he replies.

I sigh, rolling my shoulders so as to curb my anxiety. “Tell me... Why am I here right now? What was so urgent that couldn’t be told to me over the phone? Please, Hunter, no more games.”

He sighs as well, deflating a bit, and I know his ego has dropped down to the normal range. “This divorce... It shouldn’t happen...”

A lump develops in my throat. How on earth could he even suggest something like this after months...?! Forcing myself to keep my cool, I reply, “Hunter, some things just aren’t that simple. Some things aren’t forgivable...”

“You say that I never talk to you, and you’re right,” Hunter interrupts me. “Yeah, I closed up, because I thought you were still in love with Elliot...”

I sigh, looking away from him as my eyes fill with tears. “So you’re saying that because of my complex feelings for Elliot that that justifies what you did to me, Hunter? Is that what you’re saying? We agreed that honesty and communication were necessary for our relationship and marriage to work and those pretty much got shot in the face...”

Hunter closes the distance between us. “I know I was wrong, Maggie, really, but please just listen to me. I know I never did to you, and I am so sorry. But I want to begin a new chapter...” He says solemnly, taking my hands.

I grit my teeth then, but force myself not to let him see that. “With your girlfriend, you mean?” I say.

Hunter has the nerve to look genuinely confused. “What? Girlfriend? Maggie, what are you talking about?”

“You fucking asshole,” I say, finding myself laughing as I pull away from him then, shaking my head. “Your fucking girlfriend!”

“Maggie, I swear to you, I have been so hung up on you and all this,” he says, waving his hands in between us, “that I shared maybe one or two drunken kisses with Ed’s assistant Miriam since our separation.”

“Miriam?!” I cry out, genuinely shocked.

“Yeah. Miriam. She was using me to get back at her fiancé and when that worked we went out for drinks and we kissed once or twice. Nothing happened—I’m not her type; she’s not into fathers.”

“You’re actually being serious right now,” I say, shaking my head. “But... John Buchanan hired a P.I. for me...”

“What?!” Hunter demands.

I nod. “Yeah. He hired a P.I. to help my case. I was sure he wouldn’t find anything, Hunter, really, but I wanted to know...”

“Know what?!” he says, clearly angry now.

I sigh, taking my phone out of my pocket where I’ve taken pictures of the pictures the P.I. took of who was reportedly Hunter out with who he believed was Lacey Monroe with Edythe. “Here. It’s you and someone the guy said was Lacey Monroe out with Edythe somewhere...”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Hunter says as I scroll through the pictures, and I feel a second lump form in my throat when I get to the ones of ‘him’ and Lacey kissing and laughing and having a general good time with Edythe.

“Who is she, Hunter? Is she Lacey Monroe, or Rebecca Rosewood?”

Hunter sighs, taking me by the hand and pulling me down into a seat opposite him and shaking his head. “Okay. I’ll tell you everything.”

I cross my ankles. “Please.”

“That guy in the pictures is not me, Maggie. I know that’s the go-to excuse, but you’ve got to believe me.”

“Why?” I ask him. “Why should I believe you? You’ve given me absolutely nothing to go on here...”

A ping from Hunter’s phone sends him to it. He presses a button to connect him with Sheila. “Sheila, hey, it’s not really a good time... Oh.” His eyes widen then and he nods eagerly, despite being on the phone. “No. No, by all means. It’s long overdue, really. Send him in.”

“Hunter?” I ask as he hangs up the phone and the door opens. I nearly fall out of my chair when the door opens fully, and there, in the doorway, is an exact copy of Hunter, and I find I let out a shriek as he shuts the door.

“Is she all right?” asks the man.

“She will be,” Hunter replies. “Can you help me out here? It seems as if you and Rebecca are the direct cause of my divorce...”

“You’re kidding me,” the man says, immediately crossing the room and helping me to my feet. “So sorry about Hunter, Maggie. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you, really,” he says, kissing me on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, I’m totally lost um... Would one of you care to explain what’s going on here?!”

“Where are my manners?” he chuckles at me, good-naturedly. “It’s not every day that I meet my sister-in-law...”

“Sister-in... What?!” I demand.

He grins down at me. “Mason Grayson, how do you do?”

“M-Mason?!” I demand then.

“Yeah. Hunter’s twin brother. Naturally I prefer the term ‘elder brother’ but you can’t really do that if you’re twins, despite the fact that I entered this world a full fifteen minutes before he did...”

I hold up a finger to Mason before turning on Hunter. “So, let me get this straight, because I’m playing catch-up... You have a twin and you never thought to tell me about it?!”

“It’s really not that simple, Maggie,” Hunter replies.

“He’s right,” Mason says, bringing back my attention to him. “I’m a Special Agent for the FBI and my cover can’t be blown.”

“So you’re undercover?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “Not anymore—the mission went according to the plan and everyone is fine... Well, almost everyone. Anyhow, the point is that I’ve been under for almost a decade. Really gotta get infiltration right...”

“So you were undercover during our wedding?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Pity, too. I wanted so much to be there, and I hear I’ve got two nieces and a nephew, so I’ll have to meet them at some point properly, seeing as I’ve already met Edythe...”

“So why the park?” I ask. “And the outings...?”

“We’re granted temporary respite in the undercover operations,” Mason replies easily. “Rebecca is my wife, has been for many years. She has a law degree but hasn’t had the opportunity to use it in many years. She works for the FBI, too—that’s how we met...”

“Always the charmer.” It is then that one of Hunter’s bookcases rotates and none other than Rebecca stands there. She grins at the sight of Mason and runs to him then, embracing him and kissing him passionately. “Come on, I want to at least tell some of it...”

“By all means,” Mason replies.

“So sorry we couldn’t have told you sooner,” Rebecca says, breaking away from Mason to hug me briefly. “My undercover name is Lacey Monroe. I’m a billionaire heiress, that’s my persona, and Mason is my bodyguard turned husband. That way we don’t have to go far from our real identities.”

“So let me get this straight... You’re Mason Grayson, also known as my brother-in-law, and you’re Rebecca Rosewood...”

“Rosewood-Grayson,” Rebecca giggles. “Yes. I’m your sister-in-law.”

I turn and look at Hunter. “I think you and I have some things to discuss,” I say to him levelly.

“Right. Our cue to leave then,” Mason says, putting an arm around Rebecca, who gives me a little wave, as they sneak out of there.

“The only thing you’re guilty of, Hunter Grayson, is lack of communication, as far as I can see...”

“Yes,” Hunter replies.

I nod. “Okay. It seems as if you’re prepared to remedy that.”

He nods. “I am.”

“Good.” I cross the room then and lock his door from the inside before making my way towards him. I get my fingers around his tie then and immediately proceed to unknot it.

“Maggie... What are you doing?”

“Be quiet,” I reply, throwing his tie across the room and beginning to unbutton his shirt.

“But, Maggie...”

“Shut up,” I reply, standing on my toes to kiss him. “Do you know how scared I was?!” I demand then, my voice shaking. “Don’t you know by now how much I am head over heels in love with you?!”

His eyes widen then. “Maggie...”

I giggle a bit, pulling up his hands to pull at my clothes. “Please. Come on. I am absolutely crazy about you... But you drive me crazy, Hunter Grayson...” “Back at you,” he replies, yanking me forwards then so as our bodies are perfectly aligned, making an almost-complete person. He leans down and proceeds to nibble at my neck and earlobe. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this, Maggie? Thousands—millions, maybe. Every night, before I go to sleep. Every morning, as I wake up. Every waking moment of my life,” he goes on, pulling back so as to get a good look at my face. He gropes my backside with one hand and cups my face with the other. “I love you, Maggie.... You’ll never know how much that statement will never falter in its authenticity...”

My knees threaten to go weak then. “Are electronic devices covered by insurance here, Hunter?” I ask softly.

He looks confused. “Yes, of course.”

I nod. “Uh-huh. Any important files on your desk?”

He shakes his head. “Not at the moment.”

“Good,” I reply, taking my arm and sweeping the contents of his desk onto the floor, which is exactly when his phone decides to ring.

“Sorry about the noise, Sheila,” Hunter says as I quickly proceed to undress him and myself the rest of the way. “Just talking with Maggie... Hold all my calls, will you, and make sure we’re not disturbed?”

“Not a problem, Hunter,” Sheila replies, a little giggle hidden at the back of her throat, which the two of us hear as he hangs up the phone.

Hunter makes a grab for me then, and I let out a squeal as he places me, naked, upon his desk. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Maggie... I wanted history to repeat itself...”

I feel my eyes filling with tears. “I don’t love him, Hunter, really. I don’t love Elliot Stabler. I only love you...”

“Shh,” he says, smiling down at me as he gently covers my lips with his index finger. “I don’t give a damn about Elliot Stabler—all I give a damn about is this divorce you’re so intent on...”

I smile up at him, grabbing him so as he is perfectly positioned on top of me, and let out a sudden gasp then as he enters me. “What divorce?” I ask him, and we slowly begin again, just where we left off.


	15. Change in the Air

It doesn’t take long to contact John Buchanan to tell him that the divorce is off, and I even pay him handsomely for his time, so there are no hard feelings between us. I find myself with a bit of a skip in my step when I head into the squad room in the weeks that followed, waving to all of my detectives, especially to Melanie and Nate, before slipping into my office. One sunny early November afternoon, just after I go over some cold case files, I find myself looking up to see Nate stepping into my office.

“Hey, Nate,” I say brightly. “What’s up?”

“Uh, well, I wanted to drop this off,” he says, sliding over an envelope which can only contain something important.

“Ooh!” I found myself saying, opening the envelope quickly, feeling the high-quality paper in my hand. I survey the formal calligraphy, with the words WE CORDIALLY INVITE YOU TO THE WEDDING OF NATHANIEL RUPERT BARNES AND VIOLETTE CLARA FAIRFAX, TO BE HELD ON JUNE 22, 2013. FORMAL INVITATION TO FOLLOW. I raise my eyes to Nate’s and find myself smiling. “Quick wedding,” I observe casually.

Nate chuckles. “Yeah. Violette’s really wanting to get married, so...”

I nod. “I’m sure.”

“So we’ll need about six weeks off this summer. She’s already planning this elaborate trip...”

I hold up my hand. “Nate, you’ve done so much for the department. Six weeks off for the both of you is not a problem. We can handle it.”

Nate sighs a little at that. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” I look down at the invitation again, smiling at the thought of Nate and Violette looking so happy in the glamor shots. “Was there something else, Nate?” I ask, looking up at him.

“Yeah. Violette’s brother, Reed, is planning the whole occasion and Violette would actually like to speak to you about something of pressing importance regarding the wedding,” Nate puts in.

I smile. “Well, by all means, tell her that I am at liberty to discuss anything and everything she wants to discuss about it. Is that all?”

“Yes. Uh, no. Not exactly, Maggie, no...”

“Well, then, Nate, please. Say what you want to say.”

He shuffles then from foot to foot. “Forgive me if I’m being imprudent or intrusive in any way, Maggie, but I’ve noticed you’re wearing your wedding ring again after a few months...”

I smile, turning my eyes down to rest upon the glittering jewel. “Yes, I am.”

“May I ask why?”

I laugh a little. “You can, of course you can,” I reply, raising my eyes to his. “First of all, Nate, you are not just my second-in-command, you are also my friend. I trust you with this squad and with my life—is that understood?”

“Yes, Maggie,” he replies.

“Good,” I say. “Secondly, I am wearing my wedding ring because Hunter and I have begun to resolve our differences. I’ve ended divorce proceedings. We’ve actually been living predominantly in the big house in Westchester for the last six weeks and we’ve been ‘married’ for the last seven and a half weeks...”

“So you’re Captain Holbrook, or...?”

“No, I put in a request a few days ago to have my papers formally changed back to ‘Captain Grayson’ and my office door will be formally looked at as well,” I tell him as I shuffle a few lose papers upon my desk. “Now, then,” I say, raising my eyes back up to him, “would you be a dear and send Violette in to me, please? I would like to know what she would like to speak to me about...”

Nate grins at me. “Yes, ma’am,” he replies, slipping from the room, leaving my door open. He bends over Violette’s desk and whispers something to her and she kisses him on the cheek as she gets to her feet. She is five-foot-eight to Nate’s six-two and they look lovely as the pair of them stand together. She walks from her desk towards my office door, shutting it.

“Good morning, Captain Grayson,” she says with a grin.

I laugh a little. “So, Nate told you?”

“Yes,” she replies, “and I noticed the ring when you walked in... May I ask, Maggie... Does yours have an inscription?”

I nod. “Actually, yes,” I reply, taking the platinum band from my finger and motioning for Violette to stand in front of me as I switch my desk lamp on. “If you look closely, you can see the phrase ‘Több, mint a saját életem’,” I say, recalling that I’d never shared that piece of information with anyone.

“What is that? Dutch?” Violette asks.

I shake my head. “No, Hungarian.”

“What does it mean?”

I smile a little then and switch off my desk lamp before slipping the band back upon my finger. “It means ‘More than my own life’,” I reply. “Why do you ask? I mean, did Nate inscribe one onto your ring?”

“He did,” Violette says, slipping her silver band off her finger as I switch on my desks’ lamp again. “It says, ‘Vous appartenez à mon cœur’,” she replies. “I think it’s French but I haven’t had time to properly look it up yet...”

I nod. “You don’t speak French?” I guess.

She laughs and shakes her head. “Is it that obvious? I speak Spanish, Italian, Dutch, and Latvian of all things...”

“It means, ‘You belong to my heart’,” I say. “Very sweet.”

Violette nods and returns the ring to her hand. “What languages can you speak, Maggie?” she wants to know.

“I had private French lessons growing up, so it became my second language,” I reply with ease. “Spanish was my foreign language in high school, so that became my third language. In college, I took Hungarian, just for kicks, and when I took a few night classes as a beat cop, I took one in Italian and a Greek one, too. And when I was pregnant with the twins I took an online course in Spanglish as well as Mandarin due to the Chinese being a popular language around here...”

Violette sighs a little. “Wow. I wish I was that accomplished...”

I find myself raising an eyebrow at her declaration. “Is Homicide in danger of losing you, Violette?” I ask her, pointedly.

She immediately shakes her head. “No, no, of course not, Maggie. Somehow I feel lacking in my accomplishments...”

I shake my head. “Don’t. You’re a twenty-four-year-old police detective. Own it while you can,” I tell her.

“A twenty-four-year-old police detective getting married in about six months, give or take,” she says, letting out a nervous giggle. “Which brings me to my main point in wanting to see you...”

“Yeah?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Well my sister Aria is going to be my maid of honor, and my cousin Celeste is going to be a bridesmaid,” she says softly. “Nate is going to have his brother Fred be his Best Man, while his cousin Andy, Jimmy, Chester, and Hunter are going to be groomsmen, but I’m having an issue...”

“What specifically?” I ask her.

“Well, Melanie has agreed to be another bridesmaid, and I’m asking Abi to be one as well, and I was hoping you’d be one, too...”

I smile at that. “You want me to be one of your bridesmaids?”

“Well, yeah,” she confesses, “and now that you’re back with Hunter it works out perfectly. Aria pairs with Fred; Celeste pairs with Andy; Melanie pairs with Jimmy; Chester and Abi have agreed to be paired, and now you can pair back up with Hunter.”

“Well, I’m pleased it all worked out,” I tell her. “Will you want me to provide my own dress, or...?”

“No,” Violette says. “I have a designer—Paulo Radinsky, and he’ll look all of you over and decide on a color scheme that fits all of you appropriately and design a unique look for each of you. I’ll have my wedding gown, of course, and Aria’s dress will be a little different than the bridesmaid’s dresses, just like the Best Man and the groomsmen...”

“Seems like you’ve gotten things situated,” I put in.

“Beginning to,” Violette says, her smile reaching her eyes. “I’m just so excited for the big day...”

“Where were you thinking of having this ‘big day’?” I ask her. “Have you and Nate settled on a location yet?”

“The Bourne Mansion,” Violette replies. “Usually they’re booked solid for these kinds of things all year around but my brother Reed’s boyfriend actually is old friends with the proprietors of the place. They’d be delighted to have us and our wedding there and so Nate’s perfectly willing.”

I nod at that, thankful that Violette’s intended wedding venue isn’t fully booked up on the day of. “Well, I’m sure it will be wonderful. Thankfully you’ve scheduled it for a Saturday afternoon, which works out perfectly with the scheduling as beat cops mainly take care of all this during the weekends.”

“Nate considered that,” Violette tells me quickly. “Although he’s trying to not be a modern groom, you know...”

“Oh, believe me, I know,” I reply. “When Hunter and I were married, he went online and searched for the top wedding planner in New York and set me up with him for a month—Carlos Chambers, great guy...”

“Oh, he works for Wedding Planners’ United!” Violette squeals. “It just so happens that Reed’s boyfriend works for them, too! Do you know the name Brad Bancroft?”

I nod. “Yes, he and Carlos are their top planners,” I reply.

“Carlos was booked solid but referred us to Brad,” Violette confides. “But I’m very pleased with Brad’s work—he’s very fond of antiquities and Nate is perfectly willing to showcase them in our wedding because I am, too.”

I smile at Violette. “Well, just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” I tell her.

Violette hesitates for a moment before she reaches across my desk and clasps my hands in hers. “Thank you, Maggie—for everything you’ve ever done. You’re an incredible boss and a fantastic friend.”

I grip her hands back. “Violette, you don’t need to thank me—it’s been a pleasure, really.”

She nods at me before slipping from my office and back out to her desk, where she shares a loving look with Nate before returning to work.

. . .

I drive from Manhattan to Westchester the following Friday evening, drumming my hands absentmindedly upon my steering wheel. We had finally trusted Mason and Rebecca enough for them to take the twins for the night, while Edythe would be staying in the city with friends for the weekend. As for Helena, she had been granted the weekend off as this was the first time Sebastian had had a free weekend in months. I pitied the poor man, running ragged for more qualified doctors until he himself was deemed the qualified one. As I navigated along the highway in the rain, I found my heart skipping a beat—this would be my first entire weekend alone with Hunter since we’d gotten back together, and I had a very exciting evening planned for the pair of us.

I had felt mortified when I’d managed to pull Melanie and Violette aside and had asked them the very inappropriate question of where they’d bought lingerie, if they’d ever bought it. The pair of them had exchanged a knowing smile and did not seem put off with sharing this tidbit of information with me. They gave me a few names of some shops on Fifth Avenue, and I did my best to follow their instructions to the letter. I’d gone in on my lunch break, and a lovely European woman had measured me and taken careful note of my skin tone before handing over some lovely suggestions.

I’d called ahead at the highest-rated Italian restaurant in Westchester, where Hunter and I had spent our anniversary the year before. I ordered two Caesar salads, steak for his dinner, chicken for mine, and the chocolate ganache for my dessert as well as the crusted apple tart for him. I swung by the restaurant and picked up our dinner—piping hot—and left an extra tip for them for getting ready in good time. Just as I pulled up at the house, I received a text from Hunter that he would be there in thirty minutes.

My heart skipping a beat, I took our dinner into the house and laid it carefully on the good china. I lit some candles and took out the appropriate pieces of silver before slipping upstairs and putting on my new favorite lingerie—a black silk number which exposed the tops of my breasts, curves, and a generous amount of leg. I paired it with my new black satin robe and took my hair down from its ponytail, quickly running a brush through it. Biting my lip, I applied blush, lipstick, and mascara just as I heard the garage door opening. Dashing from the master bathroom and down the stairs, I just made it into the dining room just as I heard Hunter’s feet on the stairs.

I folded my hands in my lap and tried to look demure as he entered the room, and I took careful note of the smell of roses. Slowly I raised my eyes as he stepped into the room, and I felt the delicious sensation of his eyes upon me, which seemed to darken with desire. I got to my feet and thanked him for the flowers, telling him to sit down as I stepped into the kitchen, fetching a crystal-cut vase from an upper cabinet and filling it with water as I placed the roses down next to the sink. I managed not to do any damage to my fingers as I navigated them around the thorns as I snipped a bit of the ends off the flowers, arranging them carefully in the vase and setting them in the dead center of the kitchen island.

I motioned for him to sit yet again as I made my way back to the dinner table, and he did so, albeit reluctantly. Smiling to myself, I sat across from him, placing the cloth napkin in my lap and raising my cutlery and moving to take a bite of the greenery known as the salad. He copied my movements exactly, and looked quite annoyed that I was putting him through dinner and dessert.

I’d opened a bottle of our favorite red wine and sipped it, trying my best not to openly stare at my husband. I forced myself to drink the equivalent of a glass and to finish my dinner, presenting Hunter with dessert when I realized he’d finished as well. I felt my cheeks flush as I turned to return to my chair, and his fingers brushed up against my backside, sending a delightful shiver up my spine. I then managed to return to my chair and ate my dessert slowly, savoring its sweetness, whilst my free hand was tightened in a fist, placed upon my leg.

I finished my last spoonful of dessert and raised my eyes to Hunter, who had finished his dessert as well and was staring rather openly at me. I set down my utensil and raised my eyebrows at him, clearly a challenge. Immediately, he got to his feet and swooped in then, making a grab for me as I let out a squeal as he carried me from the dining room, through the kitchen and hallway, and up the stairs to our bedroom.

I let out a small laugh as we crossed the threshold, and as Hunter took in what I had done to the room. I myself had picked up a dozen roses earlier, their red petals strewn onto the bed, as well as some LED candles that I hadn’t used since our early days at the penthouse. Hunter gave me a rather shocked expression, and that gave me enough leverage to drop myself from his arms and land perfectly on the floor in front of him. Giving him a sly smile, I proceeded to unbutton his shirt, and I let out another laugh as he pulled at the satin ribbon which held my robe closed. As my robe opened before him, I managed to pull his shirt from his body.

I reached out then and found myself gripping at his arms and caressing his abs, nibbling at my bottom lip—I could never pinpoint it, but I’d truly been drawn to Hunter on a physical level since day one. He’d embodied every quality I’d ever wanted in a man on the outside, and it was only when we’d allowed ourselves to know and understand each other on the inside that we realized that we were truly meant for each other. Yes, complex emotions and secrets had threatened to drive us apart, but when it came right down to it, we just weren’t able to stop each and every form of communication entirely. I found myself staring up at him, feeling vulnerable for the very first time in years.

“Maggie?”

My breath caught in my throat at the way his voice said my name. I reached upwards and cupped his face in my hands. “No more secrets...”

He leaned down, resting his forehead against mine. “Never.”

That was enough for me. I threw my arms around his neck, managing to jump ever so slightly and wrap my legs around his torso. He gripped me tightly by the waist and carried me over towards our bed, proceeding to pull at the lingerie dress and chuckled ever so slightly, until I was naked below him but for my wedding ring. I felt as if such a thing was deliciously naughty, and I immediately wanted him the same way.

And, quite soon, he was; his pants were thrown onto the floor and his boxers came off soon thereafter, and the only thing upon him was the platinum band upon the third finger of his left hand. He gently lifted me by my waist to meet him, and I found myself letting out a gasp as he entered me then; he was not rough, nor was he completely gentle in our lovemaking that evening. As his lips caressed my neck, I felt myself closing my eyes and gasping aloud as he moved about inside me, and I found I’d never felt more at peace.

“I love you,” I whispered into his ear. “I love you, Hunter...so much...”

“I’ll love you forever, Maggie,” he replies.

. . . 

In the weeks that followed, I realized that we did not have any set plans for Thanksgiving whatsoever. As I’d not been on speaking terms with Stella—who, as far as I knew, still lived with Baxter and their children in Dallas—I decided that she was definitely out. By some miracle, Helena had relayed to me that Sebastian had that time off, so she was going to meet his family, who lived in Connecticut. I was pleased for it, although it did mean an emptier house on the day of. I found myself mentioning this in passing to Olivia, who informed me that neither Don or John had any set plans, nor did Amanda—whose only family consisted of a mother and sister back in Georgia—and I immediately extended the invitation her, telling her that I’d prefer to invite the rest of them myself.

I left Nate in charge of the squad room while I journeyed across town to check out how the SVU crew was doing. Olivia had told me that Nick’s wife was returning from active duty in Iraq and that they would be celebrating Thanksgiving with their family, which I thought was lovely. I arrived in the squad room and was instantly embraced by Fin, who would be spending the holiday with his son, Ken, and his ex-wife Teresa’s family. I told Fin that we would get coffee soon before I walked across the room and tapped on Don’s door.

“Yeah?” he said.

I opened the door and gave him a grin. “Hey, Don.”

Don immediately beamed and got to his feet as I shut the door behind me, crossing the room and pulling me to him. “Maggie!” he said in a fatherly way. “Always nice to see you.”

I peek up at him. “Thank you, Don.”

He regards me then as we pull away from one another, his eyebrows raising as he takes in my wedding ring. “Maggie!”

I immediately tuck a bit of hair behind my ear. “Yes?”

“Your ring...”

I laugh a little. “Yes. Hunter and I are back together.”

“When did this all happen?”

“A few weeks ago,” I confess. “It was all so sudden...” I move to a seat when Don gestures for me to do so, and he moves back to his desk chair. “Well, turns out that the P.I. had it wrong,” I say quietly. “Hunter has an identical twin brother named Mason that he never told me about.”

“An identical twin?!” Don says, shocked.

I nod. “Yes. Mason works for the FBI and was undercover for years—he literally just finished his assignment with his wife, Rebecca. The woman I saw in the photographs who had been identified as Lacey Monroe. Rebecca moonlights as a millionaire heiress and Mason is her husband/bodyguard during their undercover operations. She has a law degree so that explains her capability to represent Hunter in our divorce... Well, no longer divorce, anyhow...”

“You forgave him for not sharing the information with you?”

I sigh. “It wasn’t my information to know—Mason himself only just found out about me recently. It was only towards the end of his undercover that he got the opportunity to meet Edythe.”

“But you didn’t just come here to share that, did you?” Don wants to know, a smile in his eyes.

I laugh. “No, not exactly. I’m here to invite you, John, and Amanda to the Westchester house for Thanksgiving dinner. Olivia has already said yes, so it would be her, me, Hunter, the twins, and Edythe so far...”

Don smiles at that. “I’d love to come, Maggie. Thank you. Can I bring anything to this soiree?”

I laugh at that. “Sparkling cider, please,” I reply.

Don raises his eyebrows. “Something you want to tell me?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. But between you, me, and Olivia...” I look around then, not wanting this to get out. “Hunter and I have talked about potentially having another child...”

Don grins. “Well, that’s wonderful, Maggie.”

I smile at him. “Thank you. I hope it happens.”

“I just hope happiness happens for you,” he replies.

. . .

I am a little concerned when Hunter announces he’s got to finish an assignment with Ed Tucker, but am relieved when Olivia tells me that she will come over to assist me with cooking Thanksgiving dinner. Livi and Donnie are being exceptional while Edythe watches them, and, as I look over my family—my mother, my daughters, and my little son—I realize that there will have to be a time when I tell Olivia who we really are to each other. It hurt my heart that I did not have the courage to come clean and I wondered if she would ultimately hate me for keeping the information from her. Pushing the thought aside, I managed to finish preparing the turkey and put it into the oven.

The hours tick by, and I am pleased that Edythe has managed to set the table with the autumn tablecloth, silver, and china, along with the crystal and family heirloom adornments for specific food items. I feel myself swelling with pride to watch Edythe completing the task I was frequently given growing up, and, for the first time in a long while, I find myself missing my mother and father. I wonder if they knew when they were seconds from death, what their last thoughts were of. Did they think of me, their adopted daughter who, despite not conforming to their beliefs, had lead a rich and successful life? I suppose that piece of information was one I’d never know...

Don and John arrived around one o’clock, and seemed pleased to be included in the festivities. They informed me that Amanda would probably be along in half an hour, and I set the pair of them up mixing mashed potatoes and slicing various vegetables respectively, and they seemed all too glad to help. Half an hour later, I was pleased when Amanda arrived, with little presents for the twins—which just so happened to be Thanksgiving teddy bears—and the hottest charm bracelet on the market that Edythe had been begging me for during the last month. I thanked her profusely and Edythe did the same, while Amanda was rewarded with a smile each from the twins.

Hunter finally arrived in good time with the cranberry jelly and I felt, at last, secure that our entire group was in the house. I checked on the twenty-pound bird and deduced that it would be another ten or fifteen minutes for cook time, and it was then decided for everyone to change into their Thanksgiving best. It was decided that the ladies first rule would apply, so I picked up Livi from her high chair and carry her out of the room. Being nearly three years old, she says goodbye to everyone as she, Olivia, Edythe, Amanda, and I troop upstairs to change. I show Olivia and Amanda to guest bedrooms that they can change into while I slip firstly into the nursery with Edythe, who is going to help me select an outfit for her delightful younger sister.

“Nothing too stereotypical, okay, sweetheart?” I call to Edythe as I attempt to make Livi pleased with the situation of being momentarily separated from her brother, whom she is almost never without.

“No problem, Mom,” Edythe calls to me. She returns with a lovely, sleeveless brown dress and a white blouse to go underneath it, along with white tights and black Mary Jane shoes.

“Good job,” I say, and quickly change Livi’s diaper before putting her into her new outfit for the evening ahead.

I tell Edythe to go and get dressed herself while I leave the nursery and slip into my own bedroom, putting on a red blouse and black skirt. I select a pearl necklace and black heels before taking my hair out of its bun and run a brush through it before kissing Livi on the cheek and bringing her back downstairs, Edythe, Olivia, and Amanda following suit. As I come back to the kitchen, I tell the men that they are permitted to change, and Hunter lifts Donnie up from his high chair and brings him upstairs while Edythe sees to Livi and Olivia and I check on the progress of the turkey.

There is a knock at the front door and I leave the kitchen in Olivia’s capable hands as I slip from the kitchen and down the main hallway. I go into the lobby and peek through the spy hole, immediately about to lose my footing when I see who is currently standing upon my porch. A lump in my throat, I quickly move to unlock the front door, and find myself in a situation where my knees are knocking together uncontrollably. “Jay-Jay?” I whisper, giving a smile and a nod to the very attractive African American man standing beside him.

“Hey, little sis,” my oldest sibling says, kindness in his face and voice. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“Jay-Jay!” I cry and, almost as if no time at all has gone by, I launch myself into his arms and find that I am sobbing into his autumn jacket.

“This is Milo,” Jay-Jay says, mid-hug.

I pull back then and eagerly shake Milo’s hand. “Come in, please! Both of you!” I add quickly, hopping down from the embrace and leading them inside. I lead the pair of them into the sitting room and urge them to sit while I hang up their coats and quickly dash the tears from my eyes as I look them over. “It’s so good to see you...”

“Listen, Maggie, I’m not upset with you for anything. When we lost contact, I was stupid, I readily admit that, and I just want you to know...”

Milo puts an arm around Jay-Jay, and I’m so pleased that he has such a supportive friend beside him.

I put up my hand. “No. It’s fine, really. It’s so wonderful to have you here. How have you been?”

Jay-Jay sighs a little like that. “I’m good.” He lifts his hand, now free of his stylish leather gloves. “I got married.”

“He did,” Milo says, speaking for the first time, a distinct New York accent buried in his speech.

I let out a small squeal. “Jay-Jay, that’s amazing!” I cry, throwing my arms around him and kissing his cheek. “When do I get to meet her? What’s her name? What’s she like? What does she do?”

Jay-Jay laughs a little at that, as does Milo. “One thing hasn’t changed, Maggie—you’re still very inquisitive.”

I find myself laughing at that. “Yeah. Some things never change... But, come on, Jay-Jay. Tell me all about your wife.”

“Well, first of all, it’s not...” He hesitates then.

“Take your time,” Milo tells him.

“Oh, sorry,” I say, feeling an idiot for generalizing and stereotyping the whole thing. “Life-partner? Spouse? Do you prefer those terms?”

Jay-Jay shakes his head. “Maggie... God, this is harder than I originally expected it would be... Um...”

“It’s fine,” Milo says softly.

“Just tell me, Jay-Jay. Really. It’s fine. Say whatever you want.”

Jay-Jay sighs a little then. “Is your husband...?”

“Hunter?” I ask, confused. “He’s here—he’s upstairs with our son. Why? Would you like to meet him?”

“Yes. I think it’d be easier to tell you together.”

“Good idea,” Milo says quietly.

“No problem,” I say brightly, motioning for them to remain seated and make my way over to the stairs, just as Hunter carrying Donnie, Don, and John all troop downstairs. “Well, don’t all of you look nice!” I cry out. “Hunter, my brother is in the sitting room with a friend of his and he has something he’d like to discuss with us.”

Don raises his eyebrows in understanding and I motion for him to take Donnie from Hunter, and my son doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest as he and Don and John all separate from Hunter and head into the kitchen. I take Hunter by the hand and leave him to the sitting room, where Jay-Jay and Milo get to their feet and smiles at the pair of us as we enter the room together. Jay-Jay and Milo put out their hands and the pair of them and Hunter exchange standard pleasantries for a moment before we all sit down together and resume an awkward silence before I break it.

“Jay-Jay, can you tell us now, please?” I ask him.

My brother nods. “Yes, sorry.” His hands have quickly become fists, and they rest just slightly above his knees as he contemplates something.

Milo pats his shoulder. “Take your time,” he says again.

“Is it something illegal?” Hunter asks, attempting to ease the tension.

“Hunter!” I hiss.

“It’s a valid question,” my husband puts in.

Milo peeks at Jay-Jay. “Funny guy,” he says quietly, while Jay-Jay tries his best not to laugh.

I turn to look at Jay-Jay. “Is it illegal?” I ask him quietly.

Jay-Jay laughs at that, along with Milo. “Not anymore. Okay. Maggie,” he says quietly, meeting my eyes and smiling at me, “I came here to tell you that I’m gay.”

“You’re... Oh!” I say, and find myself smiling. “Wow.”

“You’re not upset?”

“Why would we be upset? It’s amazing!” Hunter says.

“Not upset,” I tell him, reaching forward and taking his hand. “Just surprised. You were so into women for years that I just thought...”

He shakes his head. “All a front...”

“Oh. Because of Mom and Dad. I get it,” I say, nodding. “So, tell us all about him, please, Jay-Jay. I want to know what my brother-in-law is like.”

Jay-Jay smiles. “His name is Milo Sinclair.” It is then that he takes Milo’s hand, and meets his eyes for a moment before turning back to us. “Maggie, Hunter, this is my husband.”

I find my eyes filling with tears as I get to my feet and pull the both of them into a hug, as Hunter does. “I should’ve guessed, really,” I say, pulling back. “You two look wonderful together, really...”

“Thank you,” Milo says with a smile.

“Will you join us?” Hunter asks then. “For dinner, I mean. We have some friends here and our children are here as well.”

“Yes, please join us,” I say, reaching out and taking ahold of both their hands. “It would mean the world to me if you would.”

Jay-Jay and Milo look as if they are going to break down from happiness.

“Yes, we’d love to,” Jay-Jay says.

“Thank you so much,” Milo tells us.

“I’ll let everybody know we’ll have two more,” Hunter says, kissing me on the cheek and leaving to head to the kitchen.

“So, where are you two living now?” I ask them.

“Brooklyn,” Milo replies.

“You still at a hospital?” I ask Jay-Jay.

He nods. “Yeah. Transferred from Chicago about five years ago,” Jay-Jay tells me then, and I’m shocked at how much time has elapsed. “I’m one of the top surgeons at the Brooklyn Veterans Hospital.”

“And you, Milo? What do you do?” I ask him.

“I own a restaurant,” Milo replies. “My grandmother was half-Italian and I got all my recipes and know-how from her. It’s called The Trilogy Bistro, and we specialize in three-course meals.”

“Oh, I’ve read the reviews of that establishment, all positive!” I tell him. “Hunter and I unfortunately don’t get to Brooklyn very often, but we will make a weekend of it at some point.” I find I am smiling at the pair of them, so pleased to have Jay-Jay back in my house and, hopefully, in my life. “Come on, then. Come and meet our friends and children.”

“What is it you do again, Maggie?” Milo asks.

“I’m the Captain of the Manhattan Homicide Unit,” I say, forcing myself to keep as much pride out of my voice as possible.

“Amazing,” Milo says. “How old are you?”

“Sweetie!” Jay-Jay says, and I hear the telltale sign of a play-slap from behind me as we step into the kitchen.

“No, it’s all right,” I say to Jay-Jay. “I’m twenty-seven.” I step into the fray of all the cooking just as Hunter takes the bird out of the oven. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet my brother, Jay-Jay, and his husband, Milo. Jay-Jay, Milo, this is Donald Cragen, Captain of Manhattan Special Victim’s Unit,” I say.

“Don, please. So nice to meet you both,” he says, shaking their hands.

“This is John, one of the SVU detectives,” I say.

“I prefer the term _senior_ detective, if you don’t mind,” John says in a sarcastic manner as he meets my brother and brother-in-law.

“Guys, this is Olivia, probably my closest friend,” I say, flashing Olivia a smile as she shakes their hands.

“Always nice to meet the family of a great cop,” Olivia says.

“And this is Amanda, one of SVU’s newest recruits,” I put in.

“Hey, nice to meet you,” Amanda says politely.

“And you’ve met Hunter,” I say, and Hunter salutes them with a grin as he allows the bird to sit briefly before slicing it.

“And this is our oldest, Edythe,” I say, motioning for my daughter to be polite to her uncles.

“Yes, I’m a little older,” she says with a laugh.

“How old are you?” Jay-Jay says, giving a smirk to Milo.

“Fourteen,” Edythe tells him. “But I’ll hopefully be done with high school soon,” she says, rolling her eyes.

Milo laughs. “Yeah, high school was annoying for me, too.”

“Were you adopted?” Edythe asks him.

“I wasn’t,” Milo says, “but I can see that you definitely got the best family out there when you were.”

“And these are our twins, Olivia Margaret Grayson and Donald Fin Grayson,” I say, not even trying to keep the pride from my voice this time around. “We call them Livi and Donnie.”

“Hey, there,” Jay-Jay says.

“Hi,” Milo puts in.

“Hi!” squeals Livi.

“Hello,” Donnie says in a more subdued manner.

“Okay, time to carve,” Hunter puts in. He proceeds to slice the bird, and we all ooh and aah as the steam rises and the kitchen is filled with even more good smells. I tell Edythe to help get some of the other food on the table and Don, John, and Amanda assist her in that. Olivia slices the bread and gets a stick of butter for each end of the table, and I make sure that I have each twin in one arm. Hunter brings the massive platter of turkey into the main dining room, and I’m pleased that somebody has thought to make the table bigger and added two plates for my brother and new brother-in-law. We all sit around the table, and proceed passing food around it to one another, and I carefully monitor Livi, while Hunter watches Donnie, to make sure they don’t make a complete mess of things.

When food has been passed around and we are all sitting there, we all join hands and stare around at one another. We each say something that we are thankful for and I feel my heart swell with pride to be sitting here with my personal family and my police family, feeling utterly safe and secure. When my turn comes, for the first time, the telltale lump does not rise in my throat at the prospect of something potentially nerve-wracking.

“I’m thankful for the obvious—family,” I reply. “No matter where we are, and no matter where we go, it’s always there. All of you seated around this table are somehow, someway, my family. And although all of us cannot be here today, they are here in our hearts. Let us raise our glasses to ourselves, and to those who could not be here, and celebrate this most wondrous of holidays, Thanksgiving.”

I find myself blushing when the chorus of applause begins, and I lower my eyes and shake my head at it. Peeking upwards, I share a secret look with Hunter before allowing my eyes to drift over everyone in turn. Although not all of them make eye contact with me, one thing is for sure: They were glad to be here.


	16. Sex, Lies, and Rock N Roll

December began as any winter month should—with an abundance of snow. Chains were put on both of mine and Hunter’s vehicles and I found myself considering just what would be an appropriate gift for an almost-fifteen-year-old for Christmas as that season drew closer. Hunter had already told me that he would get Edythe driving lessons, which I agreed to, and then, ultimately by next year, the discussion of whether or not Edythe would be one of those sixteen-year-olds with a car would inevitably come up. I missed the days when she was still young and innocent—not by society’s standards, of course, since Edythe’s experiences in the home of her birth mother never should have been inflicted on a child.

I made my way off the highway and into the heart of Manhattan, making my way down the show and ice-covered streets until I found my way to the Homicide Unit building. I parked in my parking space in the underground parking garage and made my way inside the building proper, going up to the correct floor and heading into the squad room. I nodded at Nate in his office and at Melanie at her desk, and, as I headed into my office, a feeling of dread came over me as I saw Ed Tucker seated in the seat my desk had to offer. Biting my tongue, I hung up my coat, placing my gloves into its pockets and removed my hat, shaking out my hair in the process, giving Tucker a look so as he would move.

“Good to see you, Captain Grayson,” he said, and I knew then that the whole of the department must’ve known that Hunter and I were back together. He gets to his feet and motions to my chair. “Close the door, will you?”

I force myself to grin at him in a rather sardonic manner as I manage to do his bidding. “A private conversation, then?”

He chuckles at that. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you, Tucker, I’d rather stand,” I reply bitingly. “How may I help you this morning?”

He ignores my tone. “Have it your way,” he says. “Normally, I’d ask you to bring in the offending parties, but that’s not how I like to do things,” he replies.

I force a smile onto my face. “Pardon me?”

“I’ll get straight to the point, as it doesn’t seem as if you’re understanding me,” he replies shortly. “I’m sure you’re aware of the conflict of interest you’re facing with your lieutenant and one of your detectives.”

 _Oh, great_ , I think to myself. “If you’re referring to the upcoming marriage between Lieutenant Nate Barnes and Detective Violette Fairfax...”

“That is _exactly_ what I’m referring to, yes, Maggie,” he says, all formalities aside now, apparently.

“If you’re suggesting that they call off their wedding, I strongly suggest that you consider the potential repercussions coming your way,” I tell him. “Lawsuits? I mean, forget about it. They’d be going your way like hotcakes.”

“I’m not suggesting that,” Tucker replies. “But they do have a choice to make in this matter.”

“What choice is that?”

“If they want to get married, one of them has to leave. It is a conflict of interest to have two people in the same squad married.”

“Ed, you have got to be kidding,” I reply. “Where is this coming from? Hunter and I were married and we both worked here...”

“You kept things professional—to a certain extent,” Tucker informs me. “I’ve received intelligence that Nate and Violette stay here to ‘work late’ and then have sexual relations in his office, as well as in here,” he says, deliberately stepping away from my desk. “I’m also told of their...escapades in your own personal filing room, Maggie, and...”

I hold up my hand. “Enough, Tucker. What are you suggesting?”

“That one of them must transfer to another squad,” he replies simply. “If Nate goes, then either Melanie would have to take Nate’s place, or we’d send you another lieutenant,” he tells me. “Or, if Violette goes, you could find another detective or two to replace her.”

“Ed, please. Let me talk to them. If they agree to remain professional, can I keep them both on? Please. We’ve all been unprofessional before.”

“Not me,” he replies. “And I hate to suggest what you’re implying here, Maggie. I happen to know for a fact that many men and women on the job are acting in the utmost professional manner. I hate to think that you believe that I or someone else acted otherwise.”

“Because of your wife?” I ask him, and I see I’ve touched a nerve. “Because of your wife, you don’t trust anyone anymore. That’s why you can’t take me at my word, isn’t it? That’s why you can’t overlook one simple mistake?”

“Watch yourself, Maggie.”

“No, you watch yourself, Ed,” I fire back. “You may work for IAB, but this is my office and my squad, and I trust every detective here, as well as my sergeant and Nate as well. Don’t come in here and fire accusations at me before I have the ample opportunity to get to the bottom of the situation.”

“Watch yourself, Maggie,” he says again, closing the distance between us. “You may be the captain here, but you’re still younger than I am. Didn’t your parents ever tell you to respect your elders?”

“I never had ‘parents’, in so what you mean,” I say to him. “The couple who adopted me would never allow me the breathing room to hold my own beliefs and values. And as for talk of respect, my policy is that the individuals wanting respect must earn it beforehand. You’ve done nothing to earn my respect, Tucker—you and your hurtful words and your conspiracy theories... Sometimes, I can’t even bear to look at you. I’ll bet you think marriage is a distraction, and it would have been better for you if Hunter and I hadn’t gotten back together.”

“That may be the case, Maggie, but it’s not for the reason you think.”

“Really? Because I’d love for you to enlighten me on the true reason that Hunter and I should have remained separated and eventually divorced. Is it because you think he’s not good enough for me? How cliché.”

“No, that’s not the reason.”

“Well, then what is it, then? Do you honestly think that I was still hung up on Detective Elliot Stabler? Because you’d be wrong.”

“Dammit, Maggie!” Tucker says then, closing the final step between us and grabbing me around the waist, yanking me the last half an inch towards him and kissing me.

I feel my hands fly upwards in surprise, and immediately move to push him away from me. Tucker may have been strong, but I was stronger and I managed to get him from me. Stepping away from him, I found myself shaking from the shock which soon managed to ebb through me in that moment. I began to stammer and Tucker immediately decided to apologize, but I walked to the door of my office and opened it, telling him to leave right then, and he didn’t protest. I shut the door behind him as he left, returning to my desk and managing to sit down behind it. I put my head into my hands momentarily, trying to figure out what to do, and it was then that I picked up my phone and dialed an all-too-familiar number.

“Cragen,” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

“Don, hi. It’s Maggie...”

“Maggie! Hey! What’s wrong? You don’t sound like yourself...”

I sighed then. “Because I’m not myself, I...” I bit my lip, suddenly fearful. “Don, I didn’t know who else to call...”

“Is everything okay?”

“No,” I reply. “Don, I need to see you...”

“Come on down now,” he says immediately.

“Good. I’ll tell Nate to take over.” I instantly hang up and get to my feet, putting my coat, hat, and gloves back on before leaving my office. I tell Melanie to tell Nate that they are in charge as I rush out of there. I get to the underground parking garage and drive out of there, driving like a madwoman until I manage to get across town to the SVU squad room. As I park, head inside, and show my badge before heading to the elevators, the lump in my throat returns as I step off the machine and onto the squad room floor. I go directly into Don’s office without knocking and Don gets to his feet.

“Maggie?”

I feel the tears coming full-force then and he pulls me into his arms. Weeping, he lifts his hand then and when I hear the door opening, fear returns. Turning, I see Olivia standing there, and I find myself shocked. Looking back at Don, he gives me a kind smile.

“I think Olivia would be better-suited to this.”

Sighing, I nod and Don leaves us alone, heading into the squad room and motioning to John and Fin.

“Hey,” Olivia says, pulling me into a hug. “What’s wrong?”

I finally manage to get the lump out of my throat to speak. There was no way to beat around the bush on this one—it had to be said. “Tucker came to see me this morning,” I reply. “Just now...”

“And?”

I sigh. “After telling me that Nate and Violette’s marriage was a conflict of interest for the squad he...”

“Yeah?”

I raise my eyes to hers. “Liv, Tucker kissed me.”

Immediately, Olivia’s expression changes, and she looks at me as if she hasn’t seen me before in her entire life. “What do you want to do about it?”

“God, I mean, if I report it, IAB’ll be all over my ass,” I reply. “Besides, Tucker could always claim that...”

“What?” Olivia asks.

“He could say that I kissed _him_ ,” I say, shaking my head.

“Where did this happen?”

“In-in my office,” I reply, managing to lower myself into one of Don’s provided office chairs. “He’d come to tell me about the conflict of interest of Nate and Violette’s wedding...”

“And then what happened?”

“We got into a sparring match,” I reply, lowering my forehead into my hand and shaking my head. “Dammit. I always have to get on my defensive—I guess it comes with the territory, doesn’t it? Being a cop and everything...”

“That’s beside the point,” she says, moving to sit across from me. “Was the door to your office closed?”

“Yes, per his instructions,” I reply, lifting my head again.

“What about your blinds?”

“They were up,” I reply, remembering that detail. “If they were up...”

“Then your squad could’ve seen what happened,” she says quickly. “What happened after Tucker kissed you? Did you...?” She sighs a little then and says, “I just want you to know I’m not judging you, Maggie...”

“But?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “Did you give any indication that you...”

“That I...? What?”

“Did you give any indication that you enjoyed any of the physical contact that Tucker gave you?” she asks.

“God!” I cry, pulling away from her as she’d gently touched my knee. “No! I love my husband! Hunter and I—we’ve made it work, Liv!” I say, getting to my feet and pacing around the office. “I don’t want anyone else...”

“Did Tucker ask you to the contrary?” Olivia asks, getting to her feet.

“No. Although...” I sigh, shaking my head at my utter stupidity of saying too much beforehand. “I did mention being over Elliot...”

“Well, at least you were clear,” Olivia replies. “Then what happened?”

“He led me to believe that Hunter and I... Well, that we wouldn’t work out, in any way, shape or form,” I reply. “And I initially believed that Tucker was hinting that I wasn’t good enough for Hunter...”

“And then?”

“And then he said that... Well, he said, ‘Dammit, Maggie’, and then he kissed me after I said that I loved Hunter and that I no longer had feelings for Elliot...” I stop my speech when the door opens, and I immediately feel dread washing over me when I see Don standing there, horror etched into his face.

“Captain?” Olivia asks, speaking for me, as I cannot find the words to describe what Don is feeling.

“Maggie, IAB is here,” Don says softly. “They’ve...” He clears his throat. “It seems they’ve managed to track you down. They’d like to have an interview with you, and although I’ve offered one of our interrogation rooms, they’ve refused that since you don’t work for SVU.”

“Don?” I ask softly.

“They’ve come to take you to 1PP, I’m afraid,” Don says. “I’m so sorry...”

“Don...” I try again.

“They have to take you now, I’m afraid,” Don says.

Nodding, I squeeze Olivia’s hand briefly, handing her my keys before slipping out of the main door of Don’s office and into the squad room. Ignoring the officers for a moment, I spot Fin immediately, and he rushes towards me, pulling me into a hug. I force myself not to cry, feeling safe for a moment in his arms.

“I’ll kill the bastard,” Fin whispers in my ear.

“How did you...?”

“Oh, I don’t know the particulars,” he replies. “I just know that Tucker’s cooking something up—he always does,” he says, letting me go.

John pulls me into a more gentlemanly hug next. “Don’t worry. Just tell the whole truth as you remember it and I’m sure it’ll work out.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I reply with a chuckle, pulling away from him and nodding to Nick and Amanda before turning at last to the 1PP officers. I step towards them then, extending my right arm ever so slightly. “You’ve got me where you want me, gentleman. I’m here, and I’m not going to run. Let’s be off, then, shall we?” I ask.

The larger of the two of them takes me by the arm and pulls me out of the squad room and marches me down the hall towards the elevators. Memories swirl in my mind—how had it come to this? I remembered once when Elliot and I were feeling reckless and had had sex in one of the storage closets along the hallway. He’d had to threaten to stick a mop down my throat because—well, let’s just say I was a bit louder than he’d originally intended. Then, the shooting, of course, I thought as we stepped into the elevator. To this day, I still couldn’t walk down those hallways without hearing screams, shouts, and bullets. And then there was Elliot holding me as we reaffirmed our love for each other, a love that would never truly die for either of us.

I am barely aware of the goings-on as we step off the elevator on the ground floor and I’m taken to a waiting car just outside the main doors. I keep my face utterly expressionless as we make our way down the busy street and, when we arrive at 1PP, I find I am completely weightless. The two men escort me inside and haul me up to the correct floor, unseen by anyone of importance, and take me towards Ed Tucker’s office. _No surprise there_ , I think to myself as they knock twice and let themselves in, and I force myself not to shake as the man gripping my arm turns me loose and leaves the room with him comrade.

“Have a seat,” Tucker says easily.

Grudgingly, I make my way over to the indicated chair and sit, my palms resting upon my knees. “How may I help you, Tucker?”

“We have a little problem, you and I, regarding the little...incident in your office earlier,” he tells me.

“Do we?” I ask, forcing my voice to remain impassive.

“We do.” He sits on the edge of his desk, not even two feet away from me. “It seems as though we’re at an impasse of sorts.”

“Are we?”

“Yes.” Tucker sighs. “I don’t want the department to know of my temporary indiscretion, and I’m sure you especially wouldn’t want Hunter to hear about what happened between us...”

“If you’re referring to your kissing me, Tucker, I strongly suggest you get your facts straight,” I reply, slightly bitingly. “If you recall, I immediately pushed you away and didn’t respond in the slightest.”

“Yes, well,” Tucker says, forcing himself not to look at me, “perhaps you and I could come to some sort of arrangement?”

I lean back in the chair. “I’m listening.”

“I won’t tell anyone and neither will you, and then I’ll owe you something...”

I nod. “Sounds reasonable.” I lean forward then, in full negotiation mode. “You or I will never say anything about this again, and you will allow Nate and Violette work in Homicide with me until or unless they themselves decide to leave their posts. I’m serious, Ed—they’re good at what they do, and I’ll speak to them about office professionalism again. you won’t hear about any form of impropriety in my squad ever again.”

The office door opens behind me and I turn to see Hunter standing there. “Well, hello there,” he says, crossing the room and kissing my cheek.

I quickly rise to my feet and easily put my arm around him. “Hello, darling,” I reply easily, returning the kiss to his cheek.

“What’s going on? Why did—? Why are you here, Maggie?” he asks, his tone curious at the prospect of it all. “Why did you go to Ed if you had a problem and not to me?”

“A...conflict of interest,” I reply, my eyes going to Ed. “Ed was just telling me in person in his office about the potential conflict of interest of Nate and Violette marrying and still remaining at Homicide with me...”

“But I was quick to inform Maggie, just before you came in, Hunter, that I’ve managed to resolve that issue,” Ed replies quickly. “Had some people breathing down my neck but I managed to call in a few favors so that Barnes and Fairfax can remain at Homicide if they so choose.”

“Wonderful,” Hunter replies, and I love the feeling of his arm protectively swung around my shoulders. “Well if there’s nothing else...”

“No, no. We’re...we’re done here,” Ed says, fixing me briefly with a look and nodding to me.

“Wonderful.” I slip out from under Hunter’s arm momentarily to shake Ed’s hand before slipping out of his office. “Man, always gives me the creeps when you’re summoned down here,” I say, shaking my head at Hunter as he manages to shut the door behind us.

“Yeah. Almost makes you think you’ve done something wrong...”

I turn then and fix Hunter with a look. “You... You haven’t done anything wrong, have you?” I ask him.

My husband chuckles and shakes his head. “Never. Now then, how much longer can you stay here?”

I check my watch. “Maybe an hour,” I reply as we head back into his office. “Why do you want to know, Captain Grayson?” I ask as he shuts the door behind the two of us. “Did you want to...?”

Hunter laughs. “I’d love to, but I’m buried in paperwork at the moment. I’d only have about twenty minutes and that’s hardly fair to you.”

“Are you implying, sir, that I’m difficult to please?”

Hunter chuckles. “Perhaps I am.”

I cross over to him and put my arms around his neck. “And perhaps you’re being just a tad bit unfair,” I reply.

Hunter sighs. “What am I going to do with you, Maggie?”

“Whatever you want,” I whisper back.

He shakes his head and pulls away from me. “Actually, you and I have more important matters to attend to...”

“What?” I ask him. “Me solving murders and you spying on your fellow law enforcement officers?”

My husband guffaws at that and sits on the edge of his desk. “No. We’ve got to decide what to do about Edythe’s birthday party. It’s in a few weeks... I mean, has she dropped any hints or anything like that?”

“Nothing overtly, other than the driving lessons,” I reply, leaning ever so slightly on the back of his desks’ provided chairs. “Maybe... Maybe one of those teen clubs or something,” I reply. “She may have left an advertisement open in one of my tabs on my laptop when she was looking something up...”

“Doesn’t she have her own laptop for that sort of thing?”

I nod. “Of course, but hers was dead at the time, and she apparently ‘needed’ to get into some document for school.”

Hunter chuckles indulgently. “What club is this?”

“Webster Hall,” I reply, feeling cool just talking about it. “Apparently, it’s been open since the 1880’s, according to my Google findings,” I tell him. “They’ve got these private rooms that you can rent out and I think that, catering, and a DJ would be really fun for her. We could ask Jacob Hastings to invite people, and we can make those glitzy personalized invitations...apparently baby blue and scarlet are the in-colors this year...”

“Pinterest?” Hunter asks.

I give him a sly smile. “Maybe,” I reply.

Hunter sighs. “Well, I suppose we can afford to be indulgent with her. Why don’t you give them a call—an establishment like this has rooms for private events, don’t they?”

I bite my lip then, not wanting to overstep completely. “I may have made a reservation six weeks ago, per Jacob’s recommendation,” I tell him. “I reserved the Grand Ballroom and booked The Trilogy Bistro—Jay-Jay’s husband Milo’s—restaurant for the occasion. Violette hooked me up with a DJ named Jean Paul and everything is set for the night...”

Hunter raises an eyebrow. “All planned?”

“Completely,” I reply. “Edythe’s been in on it the whole time—it’s what she wants, Hunter, _really_ wants. She’s even asked for it to be a costumed masquerade ball—won’t that be fun?”

Hunter grins then and walks towards me. “I like costumes...”

I find myself smiling indulgently up at him. “Oh, do you?”

He nods. “Yes,” he replies, putting his arms around my waist and pulling me towards him. “I especially like them due to the history they contain...”

“History?” I ask him in an innocent voice, causing my index and middle finger to walk up the buttons upon his shirt. “Perhaps I need a refresher course, Captain Greyson,” I say softly.

Hunter grins then, picking me up and practically throwing me atop his desk. I find myself wantonly wrapping my legs around his waist as he quickly unbuttons his shirt and mine and unzips my pants. Wriggling out of them and my panties, I find myself anticipating him inside me and, when it comes, he must quickly throw his hand over my mouth, lest we disturb his secretary, or Ed Tucker.

. . . 

The party date is set for the nineteenth of January, five days after Edythe’s own birthday, and a perfect Saturday. Edythe is very particular about what people can and can’t wear and I wonder if being a personal stylist is somewhere in her future at some point. Edythe herself is sporting a strapless gown in a mermaid cut which is trimmed with gold and laces in the back. Its upper skirt is a royal purple while its underskirt is a cream color, and—while I had reservations about buying it for her, right down to the moment I was lacing her into it earlier that evening—I had to admit that she looked lovely, even in the matching mask and pink lipstick, although I still harbored reservations...

My own gown was a deep green which hung off the shoulders and draped down into bell sleeves and a full, layered skirt. Edythe and I had had extensions put into our hair; while hers were meant to last up to six weeks, mine were supposed to last one weekend, which was fine with me. Along with her party, Edythe had gotten her outfit—along with new shoes, the mask, and a birthday tiara—and the hottest new cell phone on the market: a Samsung Galaxy SIII. She was quite pleased with it and had immediately downloaded every “hot” free app she could get her hands on—I think I saw Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat among the names of her new downloads.

We arrived at the club and the proper room, and, as soon as Hunter and I had walked in with Edythe, she’d kissed us goodbye and went to find Jacob and her other friends. Rolling my eyes, Hunter and I walked over to the bar—supplied with every drink known to man except alcohol—and ordered bottles of water. Helena and Sebastian—who had just gotten engaged—had agreed to watch the twins together for the entire evening up until the following morning. Hunter, Edythe, and I would be staying in the Gramercy Park Hotel for the evening—Edythe in the Junior Suite and Hunter and I in the Penthouse Suite. I suspected that Edythe would be bringing Jacob into her suite and discussed it with Hunter; we had agreed that since I’d given her ‘the talk’ and that she was intelligent enough that she would know not to do anything too stupid. Teenagers, however, had the habit of disappointing and disobeying their parents; I was determined that Edythe would not follow in my footsteps in the first regard.

Chugging our bottles of water—Hunter’s with a twist of lemon—I was pleased when some familiar faces approached us. Gleefully, I set down my bottle and threw my arms around Jay-Jay first and Milo second. They’d promised a five-course tasting menu private dinner for Edythe for her birthday the following weekend as well as a trip to Jay-Jay’s friend Heather’s humane society to look at adopting a puppy or a kitten, with Hunter’s and my full approval and permission, as we’d been looking to expand our family that way.

With Hunter occupying my brother, I turned away briefly and speak softly into the tiny little microphone attached to the inside of the neck scoop of my gown. “Do you have visual?” I ask.

“Front and center,” comes Olivia’s voice into the little Bluetooth attached to my ear underneath my hair.

“Eyes from the sky,” Fin tells me.

“Six o’clock,” Don assures me.

“Bullseye,” John informs me.

“You guys are the best. You know that, don’t you?”

“Hey, parties like this can get out of hand in two seconds,” Fin replies.

“One false move, something bad happens,” John says softly.

“All of you, on your guard at all times,” Don says quickly.

“Just think of it,” Olivia says, “if one bad thing happened—one flirt gone wrong, one trick, one pill... We got ourselves a special victim...”

“Which is why you’ve got to be on your guard—not just for Edythe’s sake or for Jacob’s, but for everyone’s,” I tell them. “I owe you all for this...”

“Don’t worry about it,” Fin says. “Don and I got kids... And then there’s just John and Liv who ‘understand’ the victims,” he jokes.

“Play nice,” I warn him.

“Seriously,” John replies, “maybe I want to settle down with a nice red-head who is willing to cook and clean and do my laundry—”

“Whoa! Hello 1950’s,” Olivia says, slightly annoyed.

“Hey, I’m just saying, it’s ever man’s dream,” John defends himself.

“Speak for yourself, Munch,” Don puts in. “Some of us just want intellectual conversation and to be held now and again...”

“Yes, yes, that’s very touching,” Fin says, “but we gotta job to do. No more of this ‘what if’ crap.”

“Point well taken,” John says.

“Smooth, Fin, very smooth,” I say, fighting back the laughter.

“Everything okay?” Hunter asks, his hand a comfort upon the small of my back. “I mean, do they have eyes on...?”

“Yeah, all of them,” I reply, turning back to smile at my brother and his husband with a rare amount of happiness. “So, Milo, tell me—anyone interesting come into the restaurant recently?”

“This middle-aged man came in the other day—said his name was Felix,” Milo begins, already seemingly agitated.

“Sounds innocuous enough,” Hunter puts in, and Jay-Jay laughs.

Milo sighs. “You would think so, wouldn’t you? I mean, I don’t ask questions; but then he says he wants this squid scaloppini—I don’t know where the hell he came up with something like that!”

“Dr. Seuss much?” I put in.

“Yeah—that’s exactly what I thought!” Milo cries out. “So, I politely explain to him, ‘Sir, I’m sorry, we only serve veal scaloppini’ and he yells at me until he’s red as a beet.”

“Nice pun,” Hunter says.

“Thank you,” Milo says. “So this guy—Felix—claims that ‘people like me’ can make anything taste good when it has to do with meat and insists that I bring it this Dr. Seuss thing to him...”

“Hate crime much?” I say, shaking my head.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Jay-Jay says, shaking his head and putting an arm around Milo, who continues.

“Now, unless it’s not overly complicated or you’re family or like family, I say ‘no substitutions’ but this guy was crazy! So, I told my chef to make a veal scaloppini but to put shrimp on it instead of veal...”

“Let me guess,” Hunter says. “He _still_ wasn’t satisfied with that?”

“Bingo!” Milo says, nearly losing control of his virgin lemon twist. “The man insists its octopus but he eats it, pays his bill, doesn’t leave a tip, and leaves. Told my staff I don’t want him coming in anymore—no reason they should have to deal with that guy ever again, I say...”

“Don knows some contacts over at Brooklyn SVU,” I say to Milo. “He gives you any more trouble, call this guy,” I tell him, handing over a card. “Harvey Richfield is the captain there—good man. Don and he went to the academy together, and he’d take care of you.”

“Thank you,” Milo says, pocketing the card.

I flash him a smile and turn back around to the bar, requesting another bottle of water before whispering into the mic, “Anything?”

“Eyes on the prize,” Olivia assures me.

“Sure Nick and Amanda can hold down the fort okay, Don?” I ask.

Don laughs. “We’ll see, I guess,” he replies.

“They’re good cops,” Fin says defensively, and I know he’s as protective of Amanda as he is of me.

“Hey, show some respect in the presence of your former partner,” John puts in, in mock-offense.

“Guys, come on,” Olivia puts in, “you two can go to marriage counselling after this, but right now, we’re on assignment.”

“You’re _all_ on assignment,” Don tells them. “We’re vigilantes against potential prepubescent sex.”

“Little harsh, captain,” Olivia says softly.

“No drugs?” Fin asks, disappointed.

“Man, I was hoping for a booze bust myself,” John says quietly.

“Stop goofing around—this is serious,” Don says. “Maggie’s a good cop, and I mean that for the bottom of my heart, Maggie. She asked us to step in and do all this for her, all you three volunteered. You’re all her good friends and I know from the bottom of my heart that she wants you to succeed in every way she has in the department, inside and out. Furthermore—”

“Captain, I’ve lost visual,” Olivia puts in. “I saw her go over to Fin’s station but he’s just given me the signal... His mic is dead and she’s gone,” she says. “Maggie, main doors, now. Looks like Edythe’s running...”

“Don’t have her,” John says, and I hear him moving.

“Neither do I,” Don says.

Turning back to Hunter, my legs feel like jelly as I force myself to smile up at him in my traditional, loving way. “Just... Stepping out for some air,” I tell him, kissing him on the cheek and feeling like a backstabber but not wanting to ruin the evening for him. I make it through the crowd of teenagers in various states of masquerade dress and make my way towards the main doors. “Liv!” I cry, and she pulls me by the hand through the doors where I see Don, Fin, and John in costume. “You so didn’t have to go all-out, boys,” I say.

“Want me to put out an APB?” Don asks, ignoring my comment.

“Not yet,” I reply. “She has her own suite at the Gramercy,” I tell him quickly. “I think I should check her suite and mine before...”

Don nods. “You’re the boss.”

“I’ll go with you,” Olivia says, and loops her arm in mine.

“Wait up,” Fin says, rushing ahead of us and hailing a cab. We climb inside and jet to the hotel, and Fin hands over his credit card to the driver before we hop out of the vehicle and step inside the elaborate foyer.

I give my name to the concierge and she helpfully hands over a door key after our badges are shown and we head up to the correct floor. The lump in my throat appears again as I realize something—this is the key to the penthouse suite, not the junior suite I’d gotten for Edythe. Shaking, we make it up to the top floor and I hold Olivia and Fin back—I must do this alone. I motion for them to wait in the hallway for my signal as I step forward, unlocking the door efficiently and stepping into the darkness of the first room, nearly tripping on a suit jacket in the process as my wits threaten to lose control.

I hear psychedelic-sounding music penetrating through the door to the bedroom ahead of me, and see a faint blue light coming from under the door. I see that Edythe’s masquerade dress—which was almost one-thousand dollars—had been thrown carelessly upon the couch, while several other articles of clothing littered the floor between the main door and the bedroom door. I felt myself sucking in breath as I panicked, which was then that an all-too-familiar scent filled my nostrils—marijuana.

 _Shit_ , I thought to myself. _This has just become a drug crime_... With my last ounce of courage, I shove open the bedroom door and flick on the light in one motion, and the sight before me startles me. There is a small glass table in the center of the bed, credit cards littering it, with a tell-tale white, powdery substance upon it. On my daughter’s arm is an I.V., with what appears to be a needle in her vein, and what I know to be heroin entering her bloodstream. And, at the center of it all, is my daughter, naked, joint in her mouth, sitting beside a boy who is most certainly not Jason but an older boy I knew she hung around with sometimes without my permission by the name of Ryder Knox. Clearly, they’d already had sex, due to the pleased-yet-frightened look on his face.

“This gonna turn out to be a three-way?” Ryder asks, a rather fat joint in between his teeth.

“Liv! Fin!” I shout, and the two of them are in there instantly, the shock on their faces more than likely an exact copy of mine.

“M— _om_!” Edythe shouts. “Why you gotta s-stop all the fun?! Why c-can’t you j-just let me do me?!”

“Because this isn’t you,” I reply, and, to my horror, I sound like the exact opposite of who I really am—cold. “This isn’t you, Edythe—this is _not_ my daughter, and this is certainly not how I brought you up! I can’t believe...” And then, I realized it then—all the signs were there, but I hadn’t thought to notice them. The perfect grades, the age-appropriate clothes, good school, good friends... I hadn’t noticed a damn thing! But the long-sleeved shirts, the couple missed curfews, the dark circles, the refusal to eat...

“Mom, come on,” Edythe says, pulling the needle from her arm and throwing it across the room with a clatter. “Let’s just go back to the party and dance and laugh and have fun...”

“No.” I watch as my daughter slips out of the bed anyhow, and am relieved when Fin and Olivia look away as she makes a grab for her bra and underwear. “No, Edythe, you’re not going back there.”

“Wha—what?” she asked, utterly confused.

“Your call,” Fin tells me.

“Yeah, Maggie,” Olivia says softly. “Whatever you want.”

“Arrest him,” I say, nodding to Ryder.

“With pleasure,” Fin says, stepping forward. “Get your boxers back on, you creep,” he tells him, throwing them at Ryder, who is surprisingly compliant. “Get up,” Fin says unforgivingly, throwing Ryder’s clothes at him as they make their way out of the room. “You’re under arrest for the rape of Edythe Grayson and contributing to the delinquency of a minor!”

“Yeah, man, I don’t know about...”

“Shut up!” says Fin. “That girl—that girl back there—she’s fifteen man, _fifteen_ for god’s sake!” he yells as the elevator doors open. “Get inside there. Let’s go!”

“What about Edythe?” Olivia says as my daughter attempts to get situated by slipping her dress back on all her own—I guess she didn’t need my help tying the laces anymore. “I’ll bet if she pled guilty, they’d make her do rehab for three months and that’d be the end of it...”

I sigh, looking over at her. She couldn’t get away with this, I decided then. It would ruin all of us if she did. A nod to myself and to Olivia, before facing my best friend, and my own demons, yet again. “Arrest her,” I tell Olivia.

She nods. “Done.” Once Edythe has finished dressing, Olivia stepped towards her and took her by the arm. “Edythe Grayson, you’re under arrest for juvenile drug possession,” she says, leading my daughter—who, meanwhile, is looking at me in disbelief and shouting expletives my way—out of there. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney,” Olivia continues as the elevator doors open, “if you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you...” She says until the doors close with a slam.

. . .

Although not pleased with me not telling him about Edythe, Hunter agrees that we should get her a lawyer. Hunter goes to sleep shortly after arriving back in Westchester—with Narcotics all over the penthouse suite, we didn’t feel right about sleeping in the hotel at all. Arriving back to the house, we find that Sebastian had headed home already after Hunter had called him during the drive and that Helena had gone to sleep as well. Hunter kisses me goodnight and goes upstairs to sleep, but I slip into the nursery before following him.

The twins are slumbering peacefully, and I wonder that since they’ll be three in three months, when would be an opportune time to get them separate bedrooms. I remember I’d felt so prideful when they’d been accepted into Rye Country Day School’s pre-kindergarten program, and would attend there until they graduated from high school. They were such intelligent children, and I couldn’t have been more proud of the pair of them. Seeing their innocent, sleeping faces below me, I couldn’t help but think of their older sister, and how much she inevitably needed me right then, even from her jail cell.

Sighing, I left the nursery and went into the living room, pulling out my cell phone from my purse—tossed carelessly upon the coffee table—and checked to see that I still had some battery life upon it. After seeing that I had, and the numbers 11:30 staring up at me from the clocks’ face, I ignored the time and called an all-too-familiar number. Despite the lateness of the hour, I was determined to do what was best for my daughter.

“Hello?” said the voice before clearing his throat. “John Buchanan. How may I help you despite the hour?”

“John, hi, it’s Maggie Grayson.”

“Maggie, hey there,” John replies. “Heard you and Hunter worked things out—I’m very happy.”

“Really?” I ask him.

He chuckles. “Of course, but this isn’t a social call...”

I shake my head, sighing. “No, it isn’t.”

“Thought not,” he replies. “What can I do for you, Maggie?”

“You know Edythe?” I ask him.

“Your older daughter?”

“That’s right. Her. I found her in a hotel room tonight with a boy, doing marijuana, cocaine, and heroin,” I say, feeling terrible recounting it.

“Not good,” John Buchanan tells me. “Need a lawyer?”

“She does,” I reply.

“I’d be happy to,” John tells me. “I’ll head down to court as soon as it opens in the morning to represent her—pro-bono of course.”

“John, no, I can’t let you...”

“Maggie, please,” he says, “I’m your lawyer. Let me do this one favor for you because I royally messed up last time.”

I sigh. “If you insist.”

“I do,” he replies. “Don’t worry,” he says just before hanging up, “we’ll make sure to get her the deal of a lifetime.”

“Thank you,” I reply before hanging up my phone.


	17. Broken Record

I awake the following morning just after six, feeling like I’ve been hit with a six-ton truck. Forcing myself out of bed, I make my way to the bathroom, getting into the shower almost mechanically. The warm water runs over my skin, barely waking me up, and I’m in there so long that I’m not sure where the water ends and my tears begin. Shaking, I finally manage to get out of there; wrapped in a towel, I pin my hair back and return to my room, raising my cheek for Hunter to kiss as he walks by me to get into the shower himself.

I get in my black pantsuit, the white camisole beneath the matching jacket almost perfectly matching the tone of my skin that morning. Numbly, I step into my black heels, putting on a pair of understated black pearls before putting on my black winter coat. I grip onto my cell phone and, as I’m packing my briefcase, send a text to Nate, reminding him that he is in charge of the squad while I go Downtown to bail Edythe out of jail. I wave goodbye to Helena and kiss the twins before heading out of there, texting Hunter that I love him before heading outside and pulling out of the driveway.

Pulling out of the community and towards the highway, I see a text from John Buchanan, telling me that he has just left his house himself to go to court to represent Edythe. The highway is surprisingly clear that morning, so I am able to shave a good ten minutes off my trip before entering the city. The Great South Bay looks bleak that morning as I get out of my car and head up the stairs, pulling my coat closely around me as the wind decides to pick up. I feel relief as I see John Buchanan waiting for me, and find myself running to him and throwing my arms around him.

“Are we allowed to see her before...?” I ask, my question trailing off, as I’m unsure how all of this works.

“We are. We have twenty minutes or so before our turn comes.”

“It’s allowed?” I cry, shocked.

He nods. “Of course. I’m her lawyer, and I need your permission to meet with her —she is a minor, after all.” He waves over an official and we are brought to the back where the cells are located, and I feel the onset of tears come when I spot Edythe in one of them, her dress frightfully dirty and her eyes red, dark circles beneath them.

“Mom!” Edythe shouts, tears flowing freely down her face as she gets to her feet, gripping the bars of the cell in front of her.

“Sweetheart,” I say, all my resolve gone as the door is unlocked and John and I step inside there with her. I feel my heart swell as she throws her arms around me and weeps onto my suit jacket.

“I’m so, so sorry, Mom!” she says, weeping now. “I didn’t mean to, I swear!” She pulls back then when she senses John behind me, and looks him up and down. “I’m not... You’re not...? Who is that?”

“John Buchanan,” John says, putting out his hand. “I’m an attorney, and I work for your mother. I’m here to represent you.”

“Attorney?” she whispers, turning to look at me.

“He’s the best, sweetheart.”

“If you tell me the whole, honest truth,” John tells Edythe quietly, “I promise you that you will not spend another moment in jail, and that you can go home with your mother today.”

Edythe looks at me in fear. “The whole truth?”

I nod. “That’s the only way to resolve this, sweetheart.”

She sighs, shaking. “Okay. Okay, I’ll tell you everything.” She sits down at the wooden table in the center of the cell, and John and I move to sit with her. “Ryder was a friend from school—a senior—before he dropped out last spring. Ryder was...he was different,” she says, lowering her eyes. “At first, it was just some drinks—fruity ones, I couldn’t even taste the alcohol, and I never had more than one or two. Within a few weeks, I was getting blackout drunk—I couldn’t tell you what went on after that, although I do remember waking up the next day with my skirt and pantyhose or tights torn and feeling sore down there...”

“Did you ever bleed?” John asks, looking up from his notes.

“Not unless it was that time of the month,” Edythe replies, meeting John’s eyes. “I lost my virginity—for lack of a better word—when I was about six. My birth mother’s boyfriend raped me, and I was stuck in that situation for almost a year until I was brought out of there. My maternal grandmother got custody of me, but she was murdered and my biological dad’s dead, and after my biological mom lost her rights to me, Mom adopted me...”

“I’m caught up now,” John tells her gently. “Go on.”

“After the blackouts, which lasted for a good three or four months, I wanted something harder,” she says, going into a fetal position—something George had told me means that the victims are ashamed of what they’ve done. “I started smoking...”

“Cigarettes?” John asks.

She sighs. “Yeah—for about a week or two. They didn’t do anything for me, and Ryder told me to give it some time. By that time, I was desperate, and he gave me a joint and I never looked back.” Tears filled her eyes. “It was about six weeks later that I’d graduated to cocaine—nothing’s like snorting the stuff... Like some crushed up diamonds...”

“How long until you tried heroin?” John asks.

“About two months later,” Edythe replies.

“Did you remember to bring her journal?” John asks me.

I remove it from my briefcase and Edythe gasps a little. “Trust me,” I tell her as John takes it from me.

“Does this detail your drug use?”

“And sexual exploits,” she confesses, mortified.

John nods. “Good. We can enter it into evidence.” He goes through it meticulously and can figure out a timeline for her drug use and sexual escapades. “And it says that about five months ago, you received an abortion from a free clinic?”

I nearly squeak in my shock—that had been six months after she had been assaulted on the subway, and when we’d been on the cruise. How had she managed to do so without knowing the language...? “Edythe...”

“Yes,” my daughter says, ignoring my outburst. “It was Ryder’s baby...”

“Edythe!” I cry out, doing the math. “We were in Sweden...”

“English is a second language of Sweden,” John says softly.

Edythe turns her eyes to mine. “Du är inte den enda flerspråkiga i familjen, mamma,” she says, and I think she is telling me that I was not the only one in the family capable of speaking more than one language.

I nearly fall out of my chair at the sound of Edythe speaking perfect Swedish. It dawned on me then that perhaps that Rosetta Stone program had not been a waste of money at all, but that was beside the point. My daughter had had an abortion—an abortion!—at the age of only fourteen.

“And after the abortion?” John asks.

“I thought that since we were on the cruise, I could try to get clean,” Edythe says in a rush then. “I managed to stay sober and drug-free for weeks, because the lowest legal drinking age is sixteen and, let’s face it, I couldn’t pass for that old yet. Given the rate I’m going with the drinking and the drugging, if I can’t stop, I’ll be looking as old as I feel,” she says softly, shaking her head. “After the cruise, I hooked up with Ryder again... He told me that he loved me, and I believed him. I remembered just losing control at school, and it got to the point where I was asking my teachers once every class to let me use the bathroom so I could shoot up or whatever suited my fancy that day in the girls’ bathroom. Mostly heroin—that stuff doesn’t really have a scent—or coke. Pot was too dangerous,” she says with a little giggle then. “You gotta stick your head out the window, learned that the hard way, and got in big trouble...”

“I didn’t know about this,” I say.

Edythe laughs then, and I realize she still must have come of the cocaine in her system, which could be there for two to four days. “That’s because Mr. Jameson caught me,” she says. “You know, that seventeen-year-old child genius student teacher Mrs. Walsh has in her class... Caught me,” she says, raising a fake gun to her head and pulls the trigger, “red-handed.”

“Did you sleep with Mr. Jameson that day?” John Buchanan asks.

Edythe nods. “That day and every day,” she replies. “I call him Todd now—Toddy if he’s being _especially_ well-behaved...”

“Where do you two do it?” John asks.

I feel sick to my stomach, but know that the defense could attempt to debunk Edythe’s exploits as ‘fantasy’.

“The teacher’s lounge,” she replies effortlessly. “That was during the weekend and Todd would turn off the cameras,” she says, shrugging a little. “But mostly we’d do it in his little office—I think it used to be a broom closet or something. He’s _so_ good, Mr. Buchanan,” she tells him with a giggle. “So, _so_ good...”

“All right,” John says, not dwelling on it. “Keep going.”

After another few minutes—and knowing far too much about my daughter’s personal life—I dig in my briefcase for the new outfit I’d brought for her. I produced her school uniform and she was also permitted a shower, by me calling in a favor. After her shower, I brushed her hair out and braided it—feeling sick at trying to get the sympathy vote—as I force myself to tear myself away from her. I throw her dress in the trash bins outside the back door of the court before heading back inside, making my way to the gallery, shocked to find Olivia and Fin there, and feel relieved at their presence.

“Thank you,” I said softly, taking the offered seat between them, “you really didn’t have to be here, you know.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Fin replies.

“Never,” Olivia tells me. “We’re always here for you, you know that.”

The bailiff steps forward as the door to the judges’ chambers opens. “All rise for Judge Elizabeth Donnelly,” he states.

“Judge Donnelly?!” I squeak.

“Called in a favor,” John Buchanan whispers from in front of me.

“You call that a favor?” Fin says quietly. “She censured him last time around when we were all here...”

Judge Donnelly steps into the courtroom, her judge robes pristine as she steps into her place and moves her paperwork in front of her. “Be seated,” she says softly, moving to do so herself. “I’ll hear your thoughts on bail...”

“Your Honor, Miss Grayson’s parents are a captain in Internal Affairs and Captain Grayson of Manhattan Homicide, as well as her uncle being a decorated FBI agent, meaning that she could have ample opportunity to run,” says the ADA. “We request remand.”

“Your Honor, my client is a minor—she’s fifteen-years-old. We’re not disputing the occupation of her parents, however the both of them are committed to the law and don’t wish to see their daughter hurt. We request ROR on the condition that she pleads guilty to one count of possession and one count of the taking of the drugs themselves—one count per drug, meaning three counts. Miss Grayson will surrender her passport and remain in the custody of her mother and father, who are both prepared to take time off work.”

“ROR does seem appropriate in this situation,” Judge Donnelly says, turning to look at the ADA.

“ROR on the condition that the plea is entered now, and we can be done with all of this,” the ADA states.

“Mr. Buchanan?” Judge Donnelly asks.

John whispers to Edythe, who nods and whispers to him. “Your Honor, my client has asked permission to allocute.”

“Granted,” Judge Donnelly says.

Edythe removes herself from John Buchanan’s side and stands before the judge. “I didn’t know for a long time what the definition of right or wrong was, Your Honor,” she began quietly. “It is said that we learn from our parents, and I was not originally blessed with Hunter and Maggie Grayson as my mother and father. I tried my best to deal with the hand dealt to me, and instead of protection, I was rewarded with selfishness, neglect, physical, and sexual abuse. The sexual abuse came from my mother’s live-in boyfriend, and it all began just a few months after I turned six. It was an alcohol and drug-filled environment and I didn’t know any better; even though I was adopted when I was very young, I still never fully healed from all the abuse—my mother’s boyfriend had a gang of pedophiles who would all takes turns with me. I went to therapy, but stopped when I believed that the therapist was making inappropriate advances towards me. I became a sexualized being a few months after I turned thirteen, giving oral sex here and there to begin to get my fixes,” she goes on, shivering ever so slightly. “By the time I turned fourteen, I was raped, and the hospital was shocked to discover that I’d been sexually active in the past, and I had to divulge to authority figures again. When Ryder Knox came into my life, I thought I had at last found someone who was hurting as much as I was. I ended up lying to my parents, telling them that another guy was my boyfriend, and that I had a circle of girlfriends as well. But whenever I’d leave the house to do homework or to have a sleepover, I’d go to Ryder’s crack den in Harlem to get high and drunk. I was beaten and raped if the others I was trying to sell to would steal my merchandise, or to those who wouldn’t pay for having sex with me. I thought it was all right, what I was doing, because I was so consumed with it that I lost touch—I lost who I truly was.” Edythe sighed a little and I could see her shoulders shaking—she was crying. “Just after one night in jail, I know I don’t want to go back there, but I know I have to pay for what I’ve done. I know I should be punished, so please, just be quick about it. I’m guilty; I’m an alcoholic and a drug addict, and I know that I should be punished accordingly. I am so sorry to the people I’ve hurt...” She turns around then. “Mom, I’m so, so sorry—I love you... And I’m sorry for the laws I’ve broken,” she goes on, turning back to Judge Donnelly. “Thank you, Your Honor,” she says before returning to her place beside John Buchanan.

Judge Donnelly sighs, and I can see she’s quite moved by Edythe’s performance. I watch as she looks over the paperwork in front of her, and I wonder if one of them is a form of permission slip for me to sign her away to a juvenile facility. She shuts the folder then, looking out at Edythe and biting her lip. “You know, normally I need to return to chambers, but not this time. Edythe Grayson, please stand.” She waits for Edythe to stand. “You have pled guilty to your crimes, and obviously are ready to receive help. There’s a treatment facility in New Haven, Connecticut that I think would be of help to you. It’s a six-month treatment program, so you would have to do your schooling online, and they would help you set that up. When you return after treatment, you’ll be on house arrest for the rest of the summer as a part of your treatment program. While you’re in the treatment program, you will not have access to a computer—apart from your schooling—or a phone, apart from contacting your mother and father. If you don’t break any laws between now and your eighteenth birthday, your records will be sealed and wiped clean. Is that understood, Miss Grayson?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Edythe replies.

“Good. I’ll call the treatment facility and make the arrangements. Families are permitted to visit every other weekend, pending good behavior,” Judge Donnelly addresses me. “Will this be an issue for you?”

I get to my feet. “No, Your Honor—and neither is it a financial one. My husband and I would do anything for Edythe to be well again.”

Judge Donnelly nods. “One other thing as a condition for your probation, Miss Grayson, is that you must attend weekly teenage AA meetings and substance abuse meetings until your eighteenth birthday. When your records are sealed and wiped, you will be able to decide otherwise. I will also recommend for some therapists for you to see, and you two can decide accordingly,” she states, bringing me back into the decision-making. “Understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Edythe and I say together.

“Good. Case dismissed,” Judge Donnelly says, slamming her gavel down and going back into her chambers.

Edythe immediately flies through the divider separating the two of us and throws herself into my arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she crows.

I smile, kissing her temple. “You really should be thanking John Buchanan,” I tell her quickly. “He’s the one who did all this.”

“All part of my job,” John says, chuckling. He places his hand upon Edythe’s shoulder and squeezes it. “I never want to see you again under these circumstances, young lady—is that understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Buchanan,” Edythe says quickly.

He nods. “Good. Maggie,” he says, nodding.

“John, wait,” I say, quickly getting out my checkbook, scrawling a series of numbers into the correct box, doubling his fee. “Take the wife out, and get your kids something nice,” I say, handing it over to him.

John’s eyes fill with tears as he sees the amount. “Thank you, Maggie,” he says with a little sigh. “You’re a good woman Maggie—remember that well, now, Edythe,” John says with a look of mock-severity before going out of the courtroom doors.

. . .

Hunter was as on board with the treatment program as I was from the get-go, and —once it was made known that Judge Donnelly had found Edythe a place there—we made the hour or so journey from the Westchester house to the place. We learned from some quick research that on alternating weekends—not the ones for parent and family day—that the teenagers would go to New London, about forty-five minutes away from the center, and volunteer at local places. You would be matched up per your likes and/or hobbies; veterinary hospitals were an option, as well as retirement homes, and I found myself wondering as we drove along the I-95 which one Edythe would want to be paired with.

After a bittersweet farewell, Hunter and I drove back home. We’d secured the whole of the day off, and I knew that he and I just wanted to veg for the rest of the afternoon and into the night. Admitting that Edythe had a problem was just the beginning, and I knew that life would never be an easy picnic ever again.

. . .

Edythe was doing well in her treatment, so much so that Hunter and I hadn’t missed a family day with her in the months she’d been away. As winter gave way to spring, the snow melted and the various flowers returned to the Westchester house, and I felt pleased to live in such a beautiful place. In May, Hunter agreed to help Mason with an assignment for the FBI, and IAB agreed to lend him out on a temporary basis. Although I had some reservations, both Hunter and Mason assured me that they’d be all right.

I said goodbye to Hunter in the final days of May, and found myself looking forward to Nate and Violette’s wedding, knowing that a necessary distraction was in order. I liked the simplicity of my strapless dark green dress, and the way the skirt hung just half an inch above my ankles. A darker ribbon went around my middle, and its matching heels were to die for. I was flattered when Violette presented me with an emerald necklace and wore it with pride, right down to my bouquet of flowers. Each bridesmaid wore a different color dress, and each held half a dozen roses in the same shade; Violette’s sister, the maid of honor, wore a pink dress and thus, her roses were pink. Violette was in white, and her roses were white as well, and I admired her for being so insistent that Nate wear a traditional suit. I apologized to Nate about not being a part of his wedding party due to the FBI assignment, but Nate said that he understood and that the day would still be just as wonderful either way.

When Nate and Violette asked me about Edythe, I briefly touched on her progress, yet told them that, despite the fact that I was their boss, that they shouldn’t allow themselves to be distracted by thoughts of my oldest daughter. “Besides,” I told them, “it’s time for talk of your wedding. Live a little.”

At the tail end of the third full week in June, everyone arrived at The Bourne Mansion to see Nate and Violette exchange vows. The justice of the peace was cordial and easy-going for everyone involved, and I’d never seen Nate or Violette happier than ever before. After the vows were said, we journeyed outside onto the grounds for a drink or two while they set up the reserved area for the grand banquet that Violette and Nate had planned. As I stood there with my drink, I couldn’t help but feel a bit alone without Hunter, and hoped that he and Mason were doing all right.

“Maggie!” cried Violette from behind me, and waves me over.

So completely touched at being called over by the bride, I stepped forward. “Hello Mrs. Barnes,” I joked with her, kissing her on the cheek. “Or are you going to hyphenate?”

“Hyphenate, for now,” she replies. “I never properly introduced my parents to you, did I? Mom, Dad, this is Maggie, my boss. Maggie, this is my mother Karen and my father, Theo.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax, it’s wonderful to finally meet you properly,” I say, putting out my hand.

“Oh, darling, Karen, please,” Karen Fairfax said. She had a lovely bob haircut, and her red hair hung perfectly just above her shoulders. “It is such a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Maggie,” said Theo, giving me a nice, strong handshake. He had a New England accent, and his hair was a salt and pepper color, and he had a rare kindness to his face which shown in his brown eyes. “Wonderful to meet you. Is my girl behaving herself in the squad room?”

“Theodore Fairfax of the Supreme Court?” I ask him.

“The same,” he replies. “I’ve been considering running for a senator for years, but I don’t know if my heart is in it completely.”

“And you own Fairfax Fashions, that luxury boutique on SoHo, right, Karen?” I ask Violette’s mother.

“Why, yes, as a matter of fact I do—with my sister-in-law, Ophelia.”

“I got your entire Fall Line last September,” I confess. “And my daughter and I were in there for your Summer Collection before our vacation last year.”

“Where did you go?” Karen asks.

“On a European cruise,” I reply. “My husband and I were separated at the time and I thought Edythe and I could use a break from New York.”

“But you’re back together now?” Theo wants to know.

I nod. “Yes. We got separated in November of 2011; I actually filed for divorce from the poor guy,” I say, looking up to see that Violette had long migrated to other wedding guests. “We got back together last September and have been inseparable ever since.”

“What was the issue?” Theo asks.

“Theo!” Karen cries, swatting his arm.

“No, it’s all right,” I say, laughing. “It’s actually a bit silly now... I wasn’t aware that Hunter had an identical twin brother...”

“How do you miss something like that?!” Theo demanded.

“Theo!” Karen said, swatting him a second time.

I laugh aloud at that. “Well, Hunter’s brother, Mason, is... Well, his confidential work frequently takes him out of the country, and I wasn’t aware of his existence because of that. I had a P.I. follow Hunter after our separation and he caught pictures of Mason and his wife, Rebecca, with our daughter, Edythe. In fact, only some of the photographs were of Mason—the ones without Rebecca were of Hunter himself. So, I thought Hunter hadn’t been faithful to me, and I began divorce proceedings. It was once Hunter could explain things, however, that I was promptly apologetic towards him and he and I were immediately back together as husband and wife...”

“ _What_ a love story!” Karen gushes.

We are soon ushered into the main dining room where I move to sit in one of the chairs on the brides’ side of the head table. Toasts are made, and I am embarrassed when Violette, Nate, and their parents urge me to make one. Not prepared—as all the weddings I’d gone to, it had been the Maid of Honor, Best Man, and parents of the bride and groom—but I managed to put something together. I talked about when I’d first met Nate and Violette and how wonderful the two of them were, and how love was a gift and it was brilliant that they could give that gift to one another by sharing their lives together. I said that I valued their friendship in and out of the squad room, and how happy I hoped they would make one another.

The rest of the afternoon dragged on with one too many drunk guests that I didn’t know attempting to grope me on the dance floor. I was tempted to slap them with my badge, but initially believed they were too drunk to do something otherwise. I found Olivia and quit dancing soon thereafter, eager to get some space from the party and to kick off my heels. My bridesmaid duties over, I decided to take off with Olivia back to Westchester. Since she’d brought her car, I offered for her to come and stay the night at the big house, and she consented. Helena and Sebastian had taken the twins to her mothers’ house that evening, so Olivia and I had the entire manor to ourselves.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock so Olivia and I decided to make something to eat and have some more wine to conclude our evening. I found some chicken in the fridge and some potatoes in the pantry so I decided to make some herbed chicken and some oven roasted potatoes. Olivia herbed the chicken per my instructions while I sliced the potatoes and added various spices to them. We put both into the oven as we sipped another half-glass of wine each—a cab-merlot that we were both especially fond of. The blackberry-spice to the wine made it even more fantastic, tickling my tongue ever so slightly and getting me just the right amount of tipsy. I was pleased when our chicken and potatoes were ready and we took our plates to the living room, sitting on the large couch. We carefully balanced our plates upon our laps—our chicken already cut up in bite-sized pieces—and proceeded to eat, drink, and chat softly, though the house was empty.

“Do you know anything about the mission Hunter’s on?” Olivia asks.

I sigh a little at that. “No—and I wish I did. I know it’s impolite to pry into his work, even though I’m his wife and a cop, too. But the whole ‘top-secret’ aspect to it... I don’t know. While I can respect it, I still think it’s asinine.”

“How long has he been gone?”

“Three and a half weeks,” I reply, “and who knows when he’s getting back? I’m working round-the-clock as it is. Tonight and tomorrow are my last days off for a while. Then it’s back to the squad for back-to-back shifts because Nate and Violette have six weeks off for their honeymoon.”

“Think the squad will survive?” Olivia joked.

I sip my wine. “Hardy-har-har. Of course it will. It has to. I mean, this is my dream job...” I shrug a little. “Think you could take over SVU?”

Olivia laughs. “Well, I don’t know about that. Don isn’t ready to go yet—no matter what he says. And then there’s John—he’s been working their longer as a senior detective and he’s Sergeant Munch so if Don wanted to retire, say, tomorrow, then John would be the likely successor.”

“I’m just saying you could do it,” I say, running my finger along the top of my wine glass. “You’re capable, and patient, and intelligent... Pretty much everything a commanding officer would need for a squad. God knows you’re more capable than I am, and I advanced far too quickly in my opinion...”

“You don’t think you deserve your place?”

I shrug. “Now, maybe. Not initially. I mean, everything just seemed to fall into place no matter what I did. Liv... Did you ever make a mistake on the job?”

She blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Remember four years ago when Cagney and I barged in to that satanic ritual?” I ask her. When she shakes her head, I sigh. “Well, maybe the records were sealed or something—I don’t know. What I do know is that I barged in without waiting for back-up because there was a tip that there were children in the building. Cagney and I barged in there—thank god we were wearing bullet-proof vests, but Cagney got hit pretty bad. He transferred to Hostage Negotiations after that, and a good thing too—he never sees duty... I know he’s capable, but, from what I hear, he has pretty bad PTSD after that night...”

“You think you messed up?”

I nod. “Yeah. I should’ve waited for back-up, and I let my petty jealousy get in the way of everything else. That was back when I thought Partridge was after Hunter, before I knew she was into women. Turns out the bitch was just trying to psych me out so that I’d be driven into running into her arms or something, I don’t know. I do know for a fact that I shouldn’t have been kept on because of that situation, if not demoted beforehand. I was promoted shortly thereafter, which is exactly why I think my fate is ill-deserved...”

Olivia sighs. “We all make mistakes in the line of duty, Maggie. Nobody’s perfect, especially not cops. The one thing you can count on is that you’re _not_ a dirty cop, and I’m glad for it. You’re my friend, and a fantastic Captain of Manhattan Homicide, and I know full well that they’re lucky to have you.”

I smile at that. “Well, I guess one thing about moving up so quickly before thirty is that I won’t have to retire for a long while. And in my home state, too! How about that?”

“Know what hospital you were born in?”

“Bellevue,” I reply. “Sometime in the minutes after midnight on July twenty-second, 1985. Of course, the time and date is a bit fuzzy to those people—it was in the eighties. Most of them might’ve been stoned out of their minds.”

Olivia laughs at that. “Yeah, I’ll bet a good chunk of them were.”

I roll my shoulders. “Well, not me. Even though I could’ve, after everything went down here way back when.”

“Yeah. Way back when...”

I laugh a little at that. “You know, sometimes I wonder... If I hadn’t been so firm about going to FAO Schwartz that day... I remember going to see the show with Mom and all she wanted to do was go back to the hotel and rest before dinner but I insisted. If we’d seen the show, gone back to the hotel and had dinner... Maybe I could’ve gone on to Broadway or moved down to Hollywood and become the next Renée Zellweger or something. That’s all I wanted to be... I remember seeing _Chicago_ the Christmas during my senior year of high school when Stella was home for Christmas break. I remember for the next several days, I memorized every song that Roxie or Velma sang. Our school ended up doing _Chicago_ that year and I inexplicably got the part of Roxie. I had to wear this blonde wig that nearly gave me a scalp infection. I remember feeling so uncomfortable in those flapper skirts because my brother Jay-Jay had me convinced that I had the legs of a chicken. But I just loved that feeling of the spotlight on me during the performances and the feeling of the stage gun in my hand... Wow. That’s something I’ll never forget, Olivia, all these years later, I’ll never forget it.”

“It obviously meant a great deal to you,” Olivia says softly.

I smile. “Not as much as being a cop did, apparently...” I am cut off by my cell phone ringing, and I get to my feet, setting my plate down upon the coffee table to answer it. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Mrs. Grayson?”

“Yes, this is Mrs. Grayson,” I reply, perplexed at not being addressed by my police title. “Maggie, please.”

“Maggie, I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but your husband, Hunter Grayson, has been in an accident while on assignment. I’m the top-surgeon overseeing him at St. Joseph’s in Yonkers. I’m Dr. Zachary Behr.”

“Can I come down there?” I ask, my voice raising an octave as I find myself worrying about him.

“Of course, Maggie. You may come immediately.”

“Thank you,” I reply.

“Ward C, Floor 17,” Dr. Behr says before I thank him and hang up.

“Liv...” I whisper, turning to her.

“What?” she asks.

“There’s been an accident,” I whisper, finding myself shaking all over. “We have to get to Yonkers... That’s where Hunter is...”

Olivia immediately snaps out of it; she’d barely finished her only half-glass of wine while as my place and had only had one drink at the wedding, so she was safer to drive at this point. We immediately ran from the house, merely grabbing our purses before heading directly for the door. I texted Helena the information so as she would know why we probably wouldn’t be home when they ultimately got back. I grappled with the decision of contacting Edythe, but ultimately decided against it—she didn’t need her treatment interrupted for something that couldn’t be nothing, at this point.

I found myself gripping the black leather of my purse, feeling absolutely silly for still being in my bridesmaid dress. However, I knew it shouldn’t matter what I wore; the important thing was to be there for Hunter. When Olivia and I arrived at the hospital, we went to the proper ward and I managed to ask for Dr. Behr, who came immediately to see me.

“Maggie,” he said, shaking my head before turning his dark gaze to Olivia with a certain amount of confusion. “Oh. Hello...”

“Detective Olivia Benson, family friend,” she said quickly.

 _For lack of a better term_ , I think to myself.

“Fine,” he said, turning back to me. “Well, your husband was shot in the back. The bullet made direct contact with his spine. When he fell, he fell at a bad angle upon his head, thus causing some serious internal bleeding. We’ve placed him in a medically induced coma to remove the bullet fragments and to stop the bleeding, but it’s touch and go from here. The surgery could take some time, and we must do it in stages so as not to exhaust him. Don’t worry—we’ll keep you informed, Maggie, but right now, that’s all I can tell you.”

“Thank you,” I call after him as he drifts back up the hall to the operating theater, where inevitably, my husband lies upon an operating table. “Liv...” I whisper, and she catches me as I fall. “I’m fine—I’m fine,” I tell her as she eases me into a chair in a private waiting room.

“Want some water?” she asks.

I nod. “I’d love some,” I reply. I continue gripping my purse, knowing that I should communicate to Edythe’s caretakers what is happening, but I cannot move my hands to take my phone out. I manage to extend one hand to bring the cup of water to my lips that Olivia brings me, and force myself to swallow. “I’m just a little light-headed,” I say softly.

She nods. “If you’re sure.”

“Positive.” I sigh then, holding the half-empty cup in my hands. “I’m wrestling with telling Edythe...”

“Do you want to tell her?”

“It’s not a question of want—he’s her father.” I sigh a little. “I wasn’t there for my parents went they...” I feel my face crumple then, and Olivia’s arms immediately come forward to pull me to her. “We weren’t even talking when they went away, Liv. After the abortion, they lost all faith in me—literally. I was dead to them. I haven’t even spoken to my sister since I told her about being pregnant that first time, and Jay-Jay only just came back into my life. Stella’s a lawyer now, living in Dallas with her husband... Last I heard she just made partner, and she and her husband, Baxter, had a fourth child...”

“What’s really bothering you?” she asks, and I know that, by now, Olivia is perfectly capable of seeing right through me.

“Hunter and I were trying to have another baby,” I confess to her. “We’d talked about it and decided after this mission, we were going to give it a last hurrah kind of try. If it didn’t work, we decided to adopt another child—a boy. We wanted to adopt a boy, around elementary or middle-school aged...”

“That’s great, Maggie. You can still do that.”

“Liv, it doesn’t feel right,” I reply. “Besides, if Hunter lives, he might need round-the-clock care...”

“Are you up for that?” she wants to know.

I turn and look at her. “Liv, I’m in love with him—no matter if he can walk or not, talk or not. He just needs to live and breathe on his own, that’s all I could want, and unless he’s in constant pain, I want him to be around me every minute of every day that he can stand me.”

She smiles. “That love is really deep, then, huh?”

I nod. “Of course, it must be, right?”

A female nurse enters the room then, and gives me a look. “Maggie Grayson?” she asks me.

I get to my feet, stumbling again. “Yes?”

She nods at Olivia. “Detective Benson here said that you were a bit woozy. I think I should check your vitals.”

“No, really, I’m fine...”

She steps forward, putting a black hand upon my arm. “I insist.” She gives me a look that’s so firm that I feel compelled to listen to her. She takes me out of there and into another room, Olivia following me, and I hop up onto an exam table. “No, honey,” the nurse says, producing a cup. “I’ll need you to give me sample in this here cup.”

I flush scarlet—a pregnancy test?! Really?! I glare at Olivia, and she laughs, knowing full well that I’m madder at the situation than I am at her. I hop off the exam table and go into the en suite bathroom, quickly depositing the sample into the cup and washing my hands before getting out of there, handing it over to the nurse before Olivia and I are permitted to return to the waiting room. I draw my knees upwards towards my chest, wondering what the results could be. If I am pregnant... I cross my fingers as a child would, bartering now, for my possible baby and for Hunter to be all right...

I find myself drawn to my hands, rubbing my temples for what seems like hours on end. I don’t even hear the clock ticking, and I barely register the fact that it is long after midnight. Finally, the doors open then, around three in the morning, and I look up to see Dr. Behr stepping forward. Olivia and I get to our feet, and I feel dread as soon as he and I make direct eye contact. He is silent for what seems like a full minute, and it was as if you could hear a pin drop.

“Maggie...” He sighs. “I’m so sorry. He hemorrhaged on the operating table so severely that we were unable to stop the bleeding. The bullet wasn’t even all the way removed, and we had to stop that process in a futile attempt to stop the severe case of bleeding. We couldn’t stop it in time; your husband suffered a massive heart attack and died on the operating table ten minutes ago. We attempted to bring him back, but he was already gone. Your husband is dead.”

I am barely aware of it until it happens. I am falling to my knees, my anguished cry echoing off the walls of the waiting room. I find myself screaming so hard and so fast that I cannot stop. I am blinded by the sudden rush of tears, and I find I cannot stop the pounding in my ears. _Your husband is dead; your husband is dead; your husband is dead_. That sentence thumped in my brain repeatedly, and I found I could not stop it. When I could see again, I saw that Dr. Behr had gone, and I felt the sensation of Olivia pulling me into her arms for what must have been the millionth time that day happened. When I was calm enough, I told her that I wanted to go home and to take a shower; she agreed to take me.

“Do you want to see Hunter before you go?” she asked.

I shake my head. “No.”

She doesn’t ask me twice, and takes me all the way home. I immediately head up the back walkway and let myself in, shocked to see Helena making breakfast at six in the morning, like a regular day. I decline her offer, squeezing Olivia’s hand—I want her to communicate what has happened. I slip upstairs and go into my bathroom, tearing the dress from my body and getting into the water, barely registering that it is turning my skin a bright red as it burns into me. I have the fan on and the water full blast, so I can scream and cry in here as much as I possibly want without consequence.

I get out of the shower a few moments later, wrapping a towel around me and blow-drying my hair. It hangs down my back and, when I get back into my bedroom, I put on Hunter’s favorite dress of mine—a knee-length, black number that I’d worn on our first dinner date. I pull on black pantyhose and my black heels as well, pinning my hair back with a clip. I then go downstairs and inform Olivia that she can go to work, as I kiss the twins’ goodbye. I then tell her that I am driving to Connecticut; Edythe was meant to get out that week anyway, due to good behavior, and I figured, at this point, a few days wouldn’t make much of a difference.

It was almost a seventy-mile trip to New Haven, but I didn’t care. The overcast day reflected my thoughts as I made my way to the I-95. I headed north once I reached the highway, and felt numb for the duration of the hour. I pulled off the correct exit and made my way through the town, knowing that my own ending could come at any time, and knew that these moments were so precious and should be cherished for as long as I was able to do so. The world around me that morning looks darker as well, and I realize then that people who have touched many communities—be them actors, politicians, police officers, what have you—have souls that will cause the world to darken without their lightness walking around.

I arrive at the treatment facility a few minutes later, parking outside and getting out of the car almost immediately. Knocking at the door, I am invited inside, and I ask to see Edythe immediately. Showing my I.D. and badge, Edythe is quickly brought to me, and I am granted permission to have a moment alone with her in the living room off the main hall. She and I sit upon the striped couch along the back wall, and I wait for the door to be shut completely before I begin speaking. I find I am gripping her hands tightly, fearful of her reaction.

“Sweetheart, you know the reason that your father hasn’t been able to come and visit with me these past several weeks, right?”

She nods. “Yeah, Mom. He’s on assignment for the FBI with Uncle Mason,” she replies matter-of-factly.

I shake my head. “No. No, he’s not. Uncle Mason is still on assignment, but your father got back last night.”

She blinks. “Where is he, then?”

I bite my lip, knowing that this is one thing that must be said. “Edythe, I’m so sorry. I got a call before midnight last night saying that there’d been an accident while he was on assignment. He was shot, honey, in the spine, and he had some internal bleeding...” My daughter is silent, so I continue, “They couldn’t remove the bullet—they put him into a medically-induced coma—because he began to hemorrhage severely. Because of this, he had a heart attack and he passed away on the operating table.”

Edythe’s eyes fill with tears—it is the first time I’ve seen her give me an emotion that was true and not drug-induced or influenced. “Daddy’s dead, Mom?” she asked then, and I remembered that little girl I met so long ago, lying on the stretcher, pleading with me, an insignificant little beat cop, for help.

“Yes, sweetheart,” I reply, feeling my eyes filling with tears again. “Yes. Yes, he’s dead. I’m so sorry.”

Edythe lets out a sob then, leaning forward and putting her arms around me. I lift my arms and drape them around her, running my hand from the back of her head to the base of her neck and back again. I held her more tightly than I ever have done before that very moment, and I realize I am doing so out of fear. I almost lost my daughter, I had lost my parents, and now I’d lost my husband.

As I held my daughter as we cried together, I realized then that I didn’t want to ever feel this feeling ever again. I didn’t want to lose anyone ever again. After about twenty minutes of this, I quickly manage to get the woman in charge of the house to sign Edythe’s release papers, and she is permitted to pack her things. I tell her I will be waiting outside, as I need to get some air. The house is abnormally stuffy, and I wonder then if that is beneficial to the other girls’ treatment. I go down the steps of the place and lean up against my car, looking up at the sky, the clouds reminding me of an endless supply of pearls.

When my phone rings, I automatically take it out of my pocket, hoping that word travelled fast and that it wasn’t the squad calling to demand where I was, or to apologize to me for my loss. My wish is granted, as I see the name DR. STANHOPE on my caller I.D. in that moment. “Iris,” I say into the phone.

“Maggie, hi,” she says. “I just heard. I’m so sorry.”

I sigh. “In our line of work, it’s always possible,” I say, my voice catching, and new tears beginning to form.

“I just wanted to let you know that I have your urine pregnancy test analysis here with me,” she says.

I sigh. “Very well,” I reply breezily. “Let me have it, then.”

“Well, Maggie, you’re definitely pregnant,” she says, and I nearly drop my phone into the gutter near my back tire. “I know it’s really not what you want to hear right now, but congratulations anyhow.”

“Thank-thank you,” I say, just as the door opens to the treatment center and Edythe comes down the steps. “Got to go now...”

“No problem,” she says, concern in her tone. “We can discuss this later. My condolences once again, Maggie.”

“Thank you,” I reply, hanging up. “All ready?” I ask Edythe.

She nods. “Who was on the phone?” she asks as I take her suitcase from her and put it in the trunk.

I sigh a little, forcing a smile upon my face. “Nobody you need to concern yourself with, sweetheart,” I reply easily, getting into the car with her. “Let’s just attempt to get home in one piece, all right?”

“All right, Mom,” Edythe says, not wholly convinced as I drive her away from rehab and on back towards Westchester.


	18. The Show Must Go On

“Mom, I was trying to talk to you,” Edythe says, gently putting her hand upon my wrist as she comes into the kitchen. “I’ve been clean for seven months and three weeks, and you’ve only let me leave the house for those AA meetings. They’re so depressing,” she says, shaking her head, heading over to the refrigerator and getting out Greek yogurt and blueberries, before shutting the door behind her. She then fetches the jar of honey from the pantry and a bowl and a spoon before taking it to the kitchen bar. “Mom?”

I sigh, turning off the water; my hands were so chapped from doing so many dishes over the past three months. I tried to keep busy around the house throughout the summer, as I was put on a mandatory vacation. I’d been adamant that Violette and Nate did not give up their honeymoon, so Melanie had taken over the squad on a temporary basis, and got some other detectives to fill in the blanks. “Yeah, I know that, sweetheart,” I say, drying my hands as I turn around to face her. “It’s just a difficult time right now. The morgue is due to release your father’s body at the end of the week and then the funeral arrangements will be planned...”

“Tell me why they couldn’t have just done that whole autopsy thing right away, please,” she says, her mouth fully.

“The best of the best were still knee-deep in the whole investigation regarding the Boston Marathon bombings,” I reply patiently, knowing full well that we’d gone over this initially.

“He’s going to die,” Edythe predicted.

I blinked, shocked at her flat tone. Ever since rehab and her addiction being made common knowledge, gone forever was my happy-go-lucky daughter. Instead there was a serious young woman in her place, who had finished her senior year of high school by mail over the summer. Now, at only fifteen years and eight months, she stated that she wanted to wait until her next birthday before beginning college classes. I was fine with this, as she was researching which colleges she would be potentially matched with program-wise, applying for scholarships, writing various essays, and really considering a career-path for herself.

“So, sweetheart, how’s the college hunt coming?” I ask, pouring myself a cup of tea and ruffling Livi’s hair as Helena brought them into the kitchen and placed them in their highchairs.

“Fine,” she replies. She dips her spoon back into the yogurt, taking a slow bite as she mulls over her next words very carefully. “I’ve been thinking a lot about where I want to go and what I want to do and stuff.”

“And stuff?” I ask, feeling quite like a teacher I had my second year of high school, who absolutely hated it when the kids in our class would say “and stuff” as a means of getting information across. “What kind of stuff?” I say, bending down and kissing Donnie’s head as I wait for her response.

“Yeah, really buckling down,” Edythe goes on. “I’m trying to think at what would be the best possible option for me... I suppose a therapist of some kind would be good, given my own demons may help me sympathize with my client...”

“Uh-huh,” I reply.

“...and John Buchanan was so inspiring,” she goes on, staring off into space for a moment as she continues musing. “A lawyer in New York...”

“Also a good career choice,” I encourage her, “and you have the kind of grades a law school would want...”

“But I really think...” She shakes her head, almost as if she’d already convinced herself that it was a bad idea. “Forget it. It’s stupid.”

“Nothing is stupid,” I tell her firmly. “Come on. Tell me.”

She scrapes the bottom of her bowl, getting out the last bite of yogurt before getting to her feet. She rinses out her bowl and puts that and its spoon into the dishwasher before letting out a little sigh and turns back to me. She is wearing her favorite orange sweater with her favorite pair of high-waisted skinny jeans and a pair of chestnut-colored Uggs she’d insisted that I buy her over the summer. Her orange sweater is one of those scoop-neck things that folds over onto itself, thus exposing the camisole she has beneath it—it is very much like an outfit that I would have worn at her age.

“I was thinking about starting college as soon as possible,” she replies. “Classes don’t start for about a week and a half and I could still get in...”

“Sweetheart, we agreed that you didn’t have to...”

“No, Mom. Please. Just hear me out.”

I smile. “Of course, darling,” I say, leaning back against the counter. “Go ahead. I want to hear.”

“I’ve enrolled at Westchester Community College,” she replies. “I want to get my Associate’s Degree and then my Bachelor’s Degree... And then I want to join the police academy.”

I nearly drop my teacup. “The police academy?”

“Yes.” She nods. “I know what I want. I want to get my degrees and then my plan is to be accepted by twenty-one, if not earlier,” she says quickly. “You always said that your degrees were beneficial on the job, right?”

I nod. “Yes. Of course, I knew other languages as well...”

“Well, I know English, French, and Spanish—and I’m learning Mandarin,” she tells me, really sold on this plan. “And you know that I know Swedish as well,” she says, delicately, for that piece of information was gleaned from her interrogation by John Buchanan. “I _want_ to join the police academy, Mom. Dad—he always said I’d make a good cop.”

“A beat cop?” I ask her, wondering if this is all she sees of herself.

“No.” She shakes her head. “I want to be a detective of Special Victims Unit, Mom, because _I_ was a special victim. I want to help those who were able to help me—I want to return the favor.”

I shut my eyes. “Which SVU?” I ask her, greatly daring.

“Manhattan,” she replies, proudly.

I turn to Helena as my eyes snap open. “Please watch the twins while I have a word with my daughter,” I say levelly, before setting my teacup aside and taking Edythe by the arm and bringing her upstairs to her bedroom. “Edythe, I think it’s great you want to be a cop, and work SVU—just please... Don’t work Manhattan, I’m begging you...”

“Why?” she asks, shocked. “Olivia’s your best friend...”

I sigh. “Yes, I know that, but...” I shake my head. “You don’t understand...”

Edythe reaches out and touches my arm. “I’ll never understand if you refuse to explain it all to me,” she says softly. “I’ve driven you to hell and back again, Mom —and you still love and are there for me. No matter what it is, I promise, I’ll be here for you.”

I nod then, realizing that I cannot keep it in any longer. “Okay. But don’t you dare tell anyone—only Don knows about this, and your father.”

“I promise.”

I reach out then, gripping my daughter’s hands. “Olivia is my birth mother,” I tell her quietly. “Don thought that he was my birth father at one time—that’s why we’re so close—and he ran our blood after I was in an accident. The panels came back negative, but since Olivia’s blood is in the system, it automatically came up as a match.”

“How long have you known?” she whispers.

“A while,” I reply, not wanting to get into specifics with her. “The point is, I don’t want Olivia to know.”

“Why not?”

I sigh. “Because, she’s not an unintelligent woman, sweetheart. I’ve dropped quite a few hints these last several years, so she could very well know as we speak. But I don’t want to put words into her mouth, nor do I want her to know because she made the choice to give me up and not seek contact with me. But, such is life. I guess I wasn’t really meant to have parents, really...”

She purses her lips. “And what about your sister?”

I shake my head. “We haven’t spoken since I... Well, not for a very long time. Tell me, Edythe, why do you ask?”

She shrugs. “I only know what you’ve told me—that she’s a lawyer, is married with four kids, and lives in Dallas. I could go online at any time to find out information about her, but I don’t—out of respect for you. No matter how much I may want to know about her, I won’t do it if you don’t want me to, and I respect that, Mom, really I do.”

I reach out then and cup her cheek. “Stella would have loved you.”

“That was her name? Stella?” Edythe asks.

I nod. “Yes.” I give a little sigh then, knowing that now would not be a good time to get impulsive, but I was on leave from the squad... “Sweetheart, I think I’m going to go to Dallas...”

“Can I go with you?” she asked.

“When do your classes start?” I ask her, knowing I must be diplomatic about this whole arrangement.

“Not for two weeks,” she replies.

I nodded. “Yes, you can come with me. I know Helena would need your help with the twins, but...”

“We’re fine,” Helena says from behind me, and I turn around. She is holding onto the twins’ hands. “I know Sebastian has some vacation time coming up if you wouldn’t mind him coming...”

I cross the room and throw my arms around her. “Thank you,” I reply. I then kiss both the twins before motioning for Edythe to pack a bag as I rush out of there. I hop onto my laptop, going online and choosing United States Airways, selecting two adult tickets—for some reason, you’re considered an adult at thirteen on this flight website—and book two in first-class. It is a non-stop flight at just under four hours, pending bad weather; it is a red-eye, so Edythe and I have a few hours to prepare before heading to LaGuardia Airport. I then login to a town car website and book the pair of us a car to take us to the airport, confirming that it picks us up three hours before our flight.

Next, I booked us a hotel suite at a lovely establishment called The Rosewood Mansion, in the heart of Dallas, about fifteen minutes away from Stella and Baxter’s house. I called to Edythe, letting her know about the flight, car, and hotel, and she seemed at ease with all of it. I then proceeded to pack myself and told Edythe to dress comfortably as I whisked her passport from our bedroom safe, my own there as well and took it, just in case. As she was no longer in high school, Edythe’s high school I.D. would not be valid, and I wasn’t sure that her learner’s permit—earned over the summer due to her good behavior—would be enough. I got our passports safely in my purse, and decided to change and go for a run to clear my head.

I told Edythe what I was doing, and she told me she was going to take a hot bath, and I told her to enjoy herself. I told Helena where I was heading off to, and she agreed that it would be good for me. Dressed in my jogging clothes—skin-tight sweatpants, a tank top, a jogging jacket, and sneakers—I slipped out of the house and bounced down from the walkway down towards the end of the long driveway and towards the edge of the property. Finally, I made it out of the front gate and made my way towards the sidewalk. I remembered Hunter surprising me with this impressive house, and knew that we’d be able to stay in it, due to his promise that we owned it outright. However, if it meant having him back, I knew full well that I’d give this place up in a heartbeat.

Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I accessed my ‘Exercise Playlist’ and was pleased when Queen was pumping in my ears. _Is this the real life_? _Is this just fantasy_? Queen, Bowie, and many of my ‘old-time’ favorites came into my subconscious during my jog, and it helped me keep up the notion that Hunter was there beside me, for he loved these bands as much as I did. At the end of the jog, as I trudged back up to the house, I hesitated for a moment on the walkway, cupping my belly momentarily in my hands.

“Sweetie,” I whispered to it. “Your daddy would’ve loved you so much...”

“Mom?!” I heard from an upstairs window, and my blood ran cold as I raised my eyes upwards.

“Hi-hi, sweetheart!” I called upwards to Edythe. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?!” she shouted, more shocked than angry. “Mom...are you pregnant again?!”

I found myself flushed all over—not just from the walk, but from the pure audacity of my oldest daughter’s statement. “Edythe... Finish your bath, blow dry your hair, and put something nice on.”

“Why?” she asked. “You just told me to dress comfortably...”

“Yes, but now I’m hungry...” I check my watch—just after ten-thirty. “You and I are going to Brooklyn for lunch.”

“But _Mom_ ,” Edythe whined, “it’s almost two hours away...”

“We still have to go to Uncle Jay-Jay and Uncle Milo’s restaurant, young lady,” I said to her. “Besides, I should tell that we’re going to see Stella later. I’m going to take a shower, blow dry my hair, and put on something nice. You have thirty minutes to do the same, young lady. Go on, now.”

Knowing that I meant business, Edythe promptly shut the window and presumably continued with her bath. I rolled my eyes and unlocked the front door, calling to Helena that it was just me, although such a statement was a moot point now. I then went upstairs, shutting my bedroom door behind me and stripping off my sweating clothes immediately, throwing them into the nearly-empty hamper. I grabbed a towel from the linen cupboard and turned on the water to the temperature I liked before slipping inside—mentally reminding myself to get some good quality shampoo, conditioner, and body wash if the hotel didn’t have what I deemed to be proper ones.

Once the bathroom had fully accepted steam into its environment, I slipped from the shower and dried myself off before hooking up my hair dryer. I ran a brush through my hair and proceeded to allow the hot air to work its magic upon my hair, feeling good as my body reheated once again. I considered what to wear, and ultimately decided upon one of my dozen or so black dresses, and urged Edythe to do the same. I remember whenever she took Stella and I out for lunch, Mom would always tell the two of us to match her and wear our black dresses.

I then proceeded to clip my hair up into what Mom had always called a ‘high-society bun’—which was just a ballerina bun—I returned to the bathroom and put on some makeup, plus a lovely pearl necklace that Hunter had given me on our first anniversary of which I was particularly fond. My red lipstick, blush, black mascara and eye-liner gave the impression that I hadn’t been crying for the last several weeks, although the redness of my eyes gave me away, if one looked closely at me.

“Mom?”

I turned to see Edythe in her off-the-shoulder black dress with the skirt that flared out to expose her knees. She wore her chunky Mary Jane heels and her black pearl necklace, all the while clasping her black clutch in her hands. Her pink-glossed lips were parted ever so slightly, her perfect arched eyebrows slightly raised in a slight moment of anticipation, her eyes accented by golden-brown eyeshadow.

“Ready?” she asked.

I smiled, stepping forward to kiss her on the cheek. “Yes, darling.”

“Don’t we need to call?”

“Sweetheart, we’re family,” I replied easily. “Besides, your uncle Milo has been calling me for weeks, letting me know that he’s always got a table for any of us that decide to come.”

Satisfied with that, we journey to the front door, calling goodbye to Helena and the twins as we slip outside and down the drive. We pull our black, faux fur wraps closer around us as we slip into the car, and I suddenly put my hand out to Edythe, handing over the keys. “Drive us to the block before the highway,” I tell her. “You know as well as I do that the bridges and highways and such have certain laws, but I can’t for the life of me remember the ones surrounding ours...”

Edythe’s eyes light up as she grabs my keys and sits in the driver’s seat, looking very proud of herself. She buckles her seatbelt as I circle the car, climb inside, and do the same, shutting the door behind me. I watch as my daughter adjusts the seat to her liking before turning on the car and taking it out of park and into drive. She navigates safely down the driveway and onto the cobblestone path, beyond the shrubbery and out of the front gate. We travel along the winding road, passing the similarly-made houses before making our way to the main roads, before Edythe pulls off gently to the side, parks, and the two of us switch seats before heading onto the highway towards Brooklyn.

“Mom?” Edythe asks.

I manage to peek at her for a moment before turning back to the road. It has begun to rain ever so slightly, and I switch on the windshield wipers as I attempt to look out at the road ahead as much as possible. I know what she is going to ask me—my oldest daughter, who had been born into the wrong family, lived with those devastating consequences, been found by the right one, and ended up with me and with Hunter...

“Yes, baby?” I ask, forcing myself not to go there completely as I manage to navigate around a particularly slow driver.

“I’m not a kid anymore...”

I force myself not to sigh at that statement. _Of course you’re a kid, Edythe_ , I would say if I was a braver parent. In the last nine months, I’d dealt with her going off the rails, and losing the love of my life—not easy feats to bear. “You may not be a _little_ kid anymore, Edythe,” I reply patiently to her. “Now, what is it you want to ask me?”

She lowered her eyes to a loose thread on her clutch—that’s what happens when you want to save a few bucks and buy a Lucy Couture instead of the real thing... “I just want to know if you’re really pregnant...”

I sigh then, forcing myself not to swerve off the road. It was now or never, and she had to be told—she wasn’t a little kid anymore, after all... “Yes, sweetheart. Your old mom is pregnant.”

“Come on. You’re not _that_ old.”

“Gee, thanks. I didn’t think twenty-eight was old either.”

She nods, taking the information in her stride. “How long have you known?” she asks me softly; a logical question.

“Since the day your— Since I took you out of rehab,” I reply.

“The same day that Dad died?”

 _Dammit, she was too smart for her own good_ , I thought to myself. “Yeah, that’s right, sweetie. Same day.”

We continue in silence along the highway, not speaking much for the duration of our car ride, and, sooner than I expected, a sign announcing that we’d arrived in Brooklyn greeted our eyes through the rain. I told Edythe the address of The Trilogy Restaurant and she plugged it into my cars’ GPS system as we drove through the center of town. We soon found it, tucked away just one block over from the main drag on a street called York, and a Romanesque-style building greeted our eyes as we parked in their adjacent lot and got out of the car. We walked in through the double front doors and looked around for the maître d’ and, quite soon, one came into view.

“I’m very sorry to have kept you waiting,” said the man in an effeminate voice and a condescending expression. “We’re unfortunately booked solid for lunch and dinner today...and for the next month.”

Based on his description, I remember that his name is Pierre. “Actually, my daughter and I know Milo Sinclair,” I say, attempting to make the situation go better for everyone. “He’s actually my—”

“Sweetie, you think you’re the only one claiming to be an ‘old friend’ of _the_ Milo Sinclair?!” Pierre demands in a hushed and shocked whisper. “I’ve told you already, ma’am, that you and your daughter must eat elsewhere. And from the look of your midsection, it’ll have to be soon. Did you forget to have dessert with breakfast?” he asks, laughing a bit at that.

I try and fail not to speak through my teeth. “Sir, I happen to be pregnant,” I say, my hands forming fists, my nails biting into my palms.

“I also see you’re married,” he says, shaking his head. “Probably why your husband married you... That, or he felt sorry for you. I can see you’re closer in age to your daughter than you probably are to your husband...”

“I’m adopted... _sir_ ,” Edythe sneers at Pierre.

“Oh, of course you are,” Pierre says, reaching forward and patting Edythe’s cheek while she looks as if she might bite him. “Homely little thing like you...why I don’t know. Especially that dress,” he goes on, tutting. “Your knees are oddly angled, darling, perhaps you should get another stylish...”

“ _I_ picked this out!” she cries out, hurt.

“You take your hand _off_ her!” I cry out, smacking him.

“Ouch! Touchy,” Pierre says, clutching his hand rather dramatically. “The police won’t take too kindly to you assaulting a restaurant employee,” he says, reaching to pick up his station phone.

I let out a small sigh and reach into my bag, retrieving my badge, not wanting to be messed with in the slightest. “I’m Captain Grayson of Manhattan Homicide,” I tell him in the same condescending voice he used with me in the beginning, and watch with inner glee as he nearly drops the phone mid-dial. “Now, my brother-in-law, Milo, owns this restaurant, as I’m sure you know. Kindly produce him, or we’re _really_ going to have a problem.”

Pierre turns white and quickly scurries away, all the while Edythe stares at me, open-mouthed.

“Mom...”

“Yeah?” I ask, returning my badge into my pocket.

“That was bad-ass!” Edythe cries, raising her hand for a high-five, and I give it to her, feeling pretty cool.

“Still want to be a cop?” I ask her.

She laughs. “Hell yeah!” she cries.

I turn to see Milo coming out, and shaking his head to himself before immediately bounding up to the two of us. He embraces me first before throwing his arms around Edythe with grins for us both. He is wearing a perfect suit—navy blue in color with a dark purple tie—and grips one hand each of ours before looking from one of us to the other.

“I apologize for Pierre—he thought he ran the place...”

“Thought?” Edythe asks.

“Past-tense?” I want to know.

“Kicked him to the curb,” Milo replies. “I was in my office watching the whole thing on the security tapes. Would’ve come sooner, but the show was too good to pass up...”

“Hey!” Edythe cries.

“Hey, free drinks, appetizers, starters, entrées, and desserts. Be happy,” Milo says with a grin to her.

Edythe claps her hands, satisfied, as Milo points to one of five circular booths at the back wall of the restaurant, which I know to be the private area, based on pictures that I’ve seen on Jay-Jay’s phone or on people’s Instagrams whenever they hashtag the restaurant. Edythe accepts a black leather menu and pours over it as I pull Milo aside for a moment, and I find I am nervous to speak to him. He puts a hand on my shoulder, sensing that something is up.

“Jay-Jay have a shift now?” I want to know.

“Told him you were here,” Milo replies. “He’s on his way to have lunch with all of us—if that’s all right...”

I nod. “Fine. I have to talk to you both.”

He nods. “Okay, no problem. Let’s go sit with Edythe until he arrives.” Milo puts an arm around me and we go back to the booth, where a waiting waiter hands us menus, but Milo puts his down, more than likely having the entire thing memorized by now. “Virgin lemonade twist, and we’ll start with the calamari and mozzarella stick platter,” he tells the waiter, who nods.

“Yes, Mr. Sinclair,” he says before going into the kitchen.

“What are you going to drink?” Milo asks Edythe.

“A coke, I guess,” she replies.

“Classic,” Milo says, nodding in approval. “How about you?” he asks, turning to look at me.

“Sparkling cider—I’m driving,” I say quickly with a grin, not wanting to spill the beans just yet on the pregnancy—I wanted Jay-Jay to be there.

“Hey, any room for one more?” Jay-Jay asks, wandering over to our table with that grin of his I’d known since childhood.

“Hey, honey,” Milo says, getting to his feet and giving Jay-Jay a kiss. “You doing okay?” he asks.

“Mind-boggling, how challenging it all is,” he says, giving Milo a final kiss on the cheek before pulling me into his arms. “How are you, little sister?”

“Better, now that you’re here, big brother,” I reply.

“Edythe, want to see how things go on in a gourmet kitchen?” Milo asks, and my daughter, taking the hint, looks excited.

“Yes, thank you!” she cries, getting to her feet and seeming at ease as Milo puts his arm around her and takes her back.

“Either Edythe has suddenly decided to go to culinary school, or you’ve got something pressing to tell me,” Jay-Jay says, removing his jacket and thanking the attendant for taking it for him. “So, come on, tell me,” he says, taking Edythe’s vacated side of the booth as I slide in across from him.

“Do you want the general news or the potentially bad news?” I ask him.

“Sounds serious,” Jay-Jay says as a waiter comes over. “Orange juice with pulp, thank you,” he says as the waiter nods and leaves us alone.

“You and that pulp, my god, ugh,” I say, shaking my head, feeling ill. “Oh, no...” I say, forcing myself not to be sick.

“You’re not kidding,” Jay-Jay says. “You’ve gone white...”

“Yeah, well, the general news is I’m pregnant,” I say softly, grabbing ahold of my water and chugging it.

Jay-Jay raised his eyebrows. “Wow. So wasn’t expecting that...” He leans closer to me. “Who knows?”

“Helena, and as of this morning, Edythe,” I say. “She caught me talking to it and I confirmed it on the ride over here...”

“Hunter...? Is it...? He didn’t...?”

I flush in momentary anger. How in the hell could anyone think that I would sleep with another man so quickly?! “Yes, it’s Hunter’s,” I reply, forcing myself to keep my tone civil. “I found out the day he... The day I took Edythe out of rehab,” I say softly. “Hell of a day, huh? Oh, your husband’s head, but, news flash, you’re going to have his baby anyway...”

Jay-Jay sighs. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

I nod, sipping my water again. “I know.”

“What’s the other news?” he asks. “Just want to rip the Band-Aid off, if you know what I mean...”

“No, I know,” I reply. “I booked Edythe and me red-eye tickets to Dallas. We’re going to see Stella.”

Jay-Jay’s eyes pop. “Well, if you think you need my permission...”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I just wanted to let you know because you’re my favorite sibling and always have been and I just...” I sigh. “I—we have a sister and I think that enough time has passed for her and me to attempt to clear the air. I don’t know when or if that time will come for you but I hope that it does and if not then I won’t mention her again to you. Ever.”

Jay-Jay nods. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.” He opens the menu and looks through it. “Milo order an appetizer yet?”

I nod. “Yeah, the calamari and mozzarella stick platter.”

He sighs. “Good. Carbs. Just what I need right now...”

“Want to recommend an entrée?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “I just go for the truffle pasta...”

“I’m feeling adventurous,” I tell him. “We’ll just tell the waiters to make that two of those pastas.”

Jay-Jay sighs. “Don’t do this just to make me feel better...”

I reach across the table and grip his hand. “I’m not doing it to make you feel better,” I tell him. “I’m doing it to make _me_ feel better.”

. . .

Edythe and I make our red-eye flight and accept the chicken valentino dinner that the attendants provide us with. The rest of the flight is uneventful, and instead of opting for the headphones and selecting a movie, Edythe opts to sleep, and I decide to do the same. The four hours or so seems to go by quickly, and soon Edythe and I soon are retrieving our smaller bags from the overhead compartments and heading off the plane and towards baggage claim. After retrieving all our luggage, we step out of there and head down to the rental car lot, renting one of those gas-guzzling SUV’s to fit in with everyone else. We load our suitcases into the massive backseat and plug in the address of the hotel to the GPS system.

Over twenty minutes later, we are pulling into the parking lot of the place and I’m pleased when employees scurry out to help us with our bags. We head inside and go up to the concierge before I give our name and we’re given keys to our suite, located on the top floor. One elevator ride later, we are at our suite and I’m handing a twenty to each attendant, and they look more than pleased at what I’m giving them. Edythe and I take a shower after one another before changing for bed and falling asleep almost immediately. We awake at nine-thirty the following morning and get dressed before going to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. We each order their buttermilk pancakes with apple juice for me and a raspberry and peach smoothie for Edythe while I figure out our next move.

“I have an idea,” Edythe says as we wait for our food to arrive.

I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she replies. She takes out her phone and Googles something, whereupon she clicks something and waits. “Hello. I’m being represented by Mrs. Hendricks, and I was wondering when she would be in the office today? Oh, I see. Thank you very much. Listen, I know it’s strictly unorthodox, but I have some sensitive paperwork that I must send her. Could you please give me her home address?” she asked, with the perfect amount of desperation to pull it off. “Oh, you won’t find my name in there, dear. It’s strictly off-the-books, if you know what I mean. Yes, yes, thank you,” she says, dipping into her bag for a hotel pad of paper and a pen and scrawling something down. “Thank you. No, I don’t need to leave my name with you, it’s quite all right. I’ll be sure there’s a Christmas bonus in it for you, my dear. All right. Thank you. Take care,” she says, hanging up and looking at me with raised eyebrows.

I look around, feeling mortified. “Edythe, I hope you can appreciate that if I weren’t your mother, I would be forcing myself to arrest you right now...”

“Fine,” she says, acting like she’s going to crumple up the piece of paper in front of her. “I guess we _don’t_ need Aunt Stella’s information...”

“No!” I cry out, swiping it from her. “Although I do know someone who can help us further with this...” This time, I take out my phone and dial an all-too-familiar phone number.

“Manhattan Special Victim’s, Detective Tutuola speaking.”

“Hey, Fin, it’s Maggie,” I say.

“Maggie!” he cries, all formalities forgotten. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, fine. In Dallas right now with Edythe.”

“Good. You needed to get away.”

“No kidding... Listen, I need a favor.”

“Fire away,” he says instantly.

“I need you to confirm a home address for me,” I tell him.

“Give it to me.”

“Okay. 7545 Plum Field Lane, Dallas Texas,” I say quickly. “I need to know the names of the people who live there.”

“I got a Baxter and a Stella Hendricks,” Fin replies. “That give you what you’re looking for, Maggie?”

“Yes. Thank you, Fin.”

“Who are they?” he asks.

I sigh. “Stella is my older sister,” I reply before managing to exchange a few more pleasantries and hanging up.

Edythe and I finish our breakfast before heading out of there and outside to the parking lot. We get into the rental car and type in Stella’s address and making our way out of there and towards the highway. We get off at the proper exit and see many lavish mansions as we continue onward before turning on Plum Field Lane, where I admit to seeing the biggest mansions in my life. We finally find the proper one and park down the street, not wanting to call attention to ourselves as we exit the vehicle and make our way up to the house. Just as I’m about to chicken out, I see that Edythe senses it and promptly rings the doorbell. A chorus of bells goes off from inside and I very nearly roll my eyes—of course Stella would have something as expensive as that in her house...

The door opens and I see a boy of about seven years old standing there—this must be my sister’s firstborn.

“Hello,” I say to him. “What’s your name?”

“Baxter Hendricks Jr.,” he replies.

 _Of course_ , I think to myself. “Hi, there,” I say, kneeling. “I’m sure your mom and dad have talked to you about not talking to strangers, but it’s okay to talk to me, I promise.”

“Why?” he asks.

Promptly, I pull out my police badge. “Because I work with the police,” I reply. “I know it might be a scary job, but it’s my job to keep kids like you safe from bad guys out there.”

“Honey, who’s there?” asks a familiar voice, and I promptly get to my feet as my childhood comes flooding back to me as Stella enters the foyer and stares at me with wide eyes.

“Hi,” I say, lifting my hand to her.

“Hi,” she replies. “Um, Bax, go finish your homework...”

“But Mom...”

“Please,” Stella says, her voice firm but not mean as Baxter Jr. rolls his eyes and walks out of there. “Maggie...”

“Stella,” I say, completely at a loss of what to say.

Her eyes drift over to Edythe. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Edythe says, putting out her hand. “Edythe—with a ‘Y’ and an ‘E’ not the E-D-I-T-H spelling. My birth mother was weird,” she says with a laugh.

“Birth mother?” Stella asks, her eyes sliding back to me. “She’s not your...? I mean...?”

“No, she is,” I reply quickly. “She’s my oldest—she’s fifteen. I adopted her about four years ago. I hear you have four.”

“Yes, yeah. Baxter Jr., who you just met. Then we had our daughter Charley, and our younger boy Seymour and then our Baby Harper.”

“Not a baby!” a little blonde cherub shouts from the opposite end of the hallway, a pout to her voice.

“Come in, please,” Stella says, and Edythe and I find ourselves crossing the threshold and into the house.

“ _Not_ a baby!” cries Harper, a little more indignantly this time as we approach her, her blue eyes angry. “I’s a big girl!” Her gaze turns to me then and the anger disappears as quickly as it came. “Up!” she shouted then, throwing up her arms and I quickly look to Stella, who nods.

I bend down and pick up my niece, who looks pleased at her great height. “High as a pwincess!” she crows.

I nod. “Yes, princesses must be kept very high. Do you know why?”

“‘Cause they woyal?” she asks.

I find myself trying and failing not to laugh. “Yes, that’s right,” I tell her, kissing her on the cheek before I can stop myself. She really was a delicious little child, and I quickly found myself looking forward to my own second pregnancy, and wondered if this child would be as beautiful as the one I held.

“You’re a natural,” Stella tells me admiringly.

I smile at that. “Thank you. Other than Edythe, I have twins back at home—Livi and Donnie.”

“With your husband?” Stella asks.

I let out a small sigh. “He died three months ago,” I say quietly.

Stella’s hands fly to her mouth. “Baxter!” she calls, and her husband—his hair now silver—enters the room. “Take Harper and...”

“Maggie!” he shouts, crossing over to me and kissing me on the cheek. “How the heck are you? And...?” He turns to look at Edythe. “Hi. Baxter,” he says, putting out his hand.

“Edythe, with a ‘Y’ and an ‘E’,” she replies. “Nice to meet you.”

“Honey, please take Harper and Edythe to the playroom,” Stella tells him. “Girl talk—now.”

“Understood.” Baxter carefully takes Harper from my arms and motions for Edythe to follow as they all three slip from the room.

Stella gestures for me to sit on the modern couch and lets out a sigh. “I had no idea you were going through something so horrible. I would’ve called...”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. We have very different views and...”

“No.” Stella shakes her head. “You don’t get it.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighs. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch to you forever... Really. But you don’t know the full story, Mags.”

“What ‘full story’? I don’t understand.”

She sighs. “You know why I always tried so hard to be ‘the best’?”

“Every waking moment,” I reply.

She laughs. “Well, there was a reason...”

“What reason?”

“Maggie... Dad sexually abused me,” she replies. When I don’t respond, she keeps going. “It began when I was about two,” she says. “My first memory is that sicko trying to stick it in me, and beating me when he realized I was too small. The sex didn’t start until I was about five—then, even though it hurt like hell—there was finally ‘room to grow’ as he said. That’s why I was so religious and passionate about it, Mags—I thought that it could absolve me of my sin. But I was wrong, and as soon as they died and I got all the money, I left the church.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell me properly?” I ask. “Did you feel you deserved all the money?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “I mean, selfishly, at the very beginning—for a few moments after I got the news, initially, I thought, yes. But after those moments, I knew it had to be divvied up three ways. I didn’t have contact on you so I called Jay-Jay and he came out to me and said he was living with his partner. I told him I thought it was great but he accused me of lying and said that he didn’t want any of the money and said you were too good for it, too before he hung up. Later, Milo called me and told me that Jay-Jay had confessed to Dad raping him as well...”

I lowered my eyes. “I’m so sorry...”

“Did he ever do it to you?” she asked, softly.

I shake my head. “No. And we cops have access to top-notch medical care, so I think it would’ve come out by now, you know?”

Stella sighs. “You never know with this, unfortunately.”

I nod. “You’re probably right.”

“So, your husband...?”

“Well, he and I got separated for a while a short time ago,” I tell her. “We weren’t communicating at all and I got scared. So, I got a divorce attorney and he hired a P.I. for me and it looked like Hunter was cheating on me...”

“No!” Stella cried.

I nodded. “Yes. So, naturally, I was devastated and upgraded the separation to a divorce and decided to seek sole custody. Well, what I didn’t know was that Hunter had a twin brother, Mason—who had been on assignment for years and so I hadn’t met or heard about him yet. Mason worked for...” I leaned in real close to her, afraid that the walls had ears. “...the FBI. So, Mason works for them, alongside his wife, Rebecca, who just so happened to be the woman I saw ‘Hunter’ with. So, once all this was explained, Hunter and I immediately... Got back together,” I say after a moment. “So, then Hunter agreed to go with Mason on assignment and lo and behold, Hunter dies.”

“Did you say goodbye?” Stella asks.

I shake my head. “In my own way, I guess.” I sigh a little. “I couldn’t do it—the whole physical goodbye.”

Stella looks me over. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

I lower my eyes. “Yes.”

For the first time since I was seventeen—when I came home from New York after being raped—Stella pulled me into her arms and held me. “I hate myself for how terrible I was to you,” she tells me softly, gripping me close to her. “I said some unforgivable things when you were going through what you went through with that other detective. I should never have made you feel negatively about having an abortion, Maggie, never...”

I pull back then. “Stella, no...” I whisper.

She nods. “Yes. Three times I had to go in—once at twelve, once at thirteen, and once at sixteen,” she whispers. “Baxter is the only one who knows.”

“All Dad’s?” I whisper.

She nods. “Yes. Had to have been.”

I shudder. “How did he keep you quiet?”

“At twelve it was getting my ears pierced; at thirteen I got all the makeup any girl could want—I also went through my Grunge phase then—and at sixteen I got that red 1996 Acura Integra. Remember?” she asks.

I nod, remembering going to McDonald’s with her in that thing. Now that it was bought with blood money, the very thought made my insides swim. I knew that I shouldn’t dwell on my own past, now that we were rehashing Stella’s, but I just couldn’t help myself. Pretty soon, I was bawling my head off, so much so that I didn’t hear the doorbell ring. I barely registered Baxter going to get it, or the fact that he was speaking to us a moment later.

“Maggie.”

The voice was so familiar, so intimate, that I immediately felt as if I was dreaming and forced myself to awake completely. When I realized that wakefulness wouldn’t magically appear, and that I was already awake, I pulled myself from Stella’s arms, and saw Mason standing there. Smiling ever so slightly, I looked around him, shocked to find him alone.

“Where’s Rebecca?” I asked.

He a strange expression. “I assume in Chicago, where she shared a house with Mason,” he replies.

My breath catches in my throat then. “But... But you... You’re not...” I found that English was failing me then, but I forced myself to speak further as Stella and Baxter slipped from the room. “You’re _Mason_ ,” I said firmly, almost as if I was forcing myself to believe it.

“No.” He gave a small smile. “Mason is the one that they’re burying in Chicago at the end of the week.”

“Do the Grayson’s have a triplet brother I don’t know about?” I demand then, feeling utterly out of my element then.

He laughs and shakes his head. “No, Maggie. It’s just me.”

“Just...?” My breath catches again as I feel the hot tears coming down my cheeks as I fully register the situation. “Hunter?” I whisper.

He nods. “Yes.”

“What happened?” I whisper, standing my ground, fearful that he would disappear if I dared to approach him.

“I had information to classified documents,” he said softly. “When men were going to surround us, Mason—who knew less information—grabbed a handy tire iron and slammed it into my skull,” he said, showing me a mark. “I fell unconscious immediately, and the men thought I was dead, so they shot Mason. They thought he was me and they rushed to save him, but it was too late. When I finally came too, everyone was gone and I had to find my way to a hospital. I didn’t know where the hell I was—or who the hell I was—but Mason had managed to swap our wrist chips, and so I was identified as Mason Grayson,” Hunter said patiently. “So, I went back to Chicago to recuperate and...”

“You and Rebecca? You didn’t...?”

“No!” Hunter cries. “No, of course not, I was recuperating. Slowly but surely over the last few weeks, my memory came back. I took the first flight I could to New York once I knew of my identity, and after a tip off from Fin, I could come here to find you. And here you are.”

“Here... Here I am,” I whispered. I uncrossed my arms for the first time, and I saw my husband’s eyes widen at my stomach.

“You’re...?”

“Yes. I found out the day you—the day Mason died...”

“Hell of a day,” Hunter said softly.

I felt my eyes fill with tears. “Hell of a day,” I reply. I felt my eyes fill with tears once more as I bolted across the room to him, letting out a sob as he closed the distance between us and pulled me into his arms. “I felt like I was dying,” I sobbed into his shoulder.

“I did, too,” he replies. “My stomach dropped when I thought you’d left New York but I was so relieved when Fin said it was temporary...”

“I love our kids,” I whisper to him, “but we’re not a family without you, Hunter, we’re really not...”

“Edythe?” he whispers.

I chuckle. “Wants to join the police academy. She wants to be a detective at Westchester SVU.”

“That’s our girl,” he says. “The twins?”

“I don’t think they fully understood... Everything,” I whisper to him. “I still don’t understand it. “It’s like a horrible dream that I’m just waking up from...and ironically, we’re in Dallas...”

Hunter chuckles. “But we’re together.”

I raise my face to his. “Forever,” I reply, and feel my nerve endings explode with desire as he lowers his lips to meet mine.


	19. From Beginning to End

Taking advantage of a few favors, Hunter, Edythe, and I quickly returned to the hotel with the rental car and gathered up our things. Hunter quickly paid the bill as soon as we’d finished, which Edythe quickly informed the two of us was more than a little counterproductive, but I wouldn’t allow my husband out of my sight. As soon as we’d finished packing, the bill was paid and we flew out of there, returning the rental car with a flash before Hunter called in a jet to return us to New York. It cut down our journey by a quarter, thankfully, and Edythe was ushered off to Helena’s mother’s house that evening, along with the twins, and, given the rather desperate circumstances, I saw the glint in Helena’s eye, due to her massive understanding of the situation.

I found myself giggling like a teenage girl as soon as the house was empty, and as Hunter and I gathered our things and took them to our bedroom. Having told me no more about the mission with Mason, I merely stated that I did not much feel like discussing it at that moment, and he seemed at ease with my statement. The pair of us soon found ourselves in the shower, tidying ourselves up before adjourning to the bedroom—specifically, the bed. I pulled him quickly towards me, and felt my eyes fill with tears as this began again—it wasn’t too much, it was perfect.

He put his arms completely around me, kissing every inch he could manage to get his lips upon. “I love you,” he whispered, repeatedly, and I found I would never tire of that statement—nor take it for granted—ever again in my life.

I pulled him on top of me upon the bed, wrapping my legs around his torso. Our tears mixed as our bodies became entwined, and I found that I was, at last, whole again.

. . .

Once the air was cleared with the department, Hunter was given a physical to determine when he could return to work. It would take a few more weeks for the results to come in—and during that time my husband would be on desk duty—yet I knew what I wanted most of all. Yes, I wanted the love of my life to be healthy, but there was something much bigger afoot—Hunter and I were due to find out the sex of the baby. We arranged the appointment for one week after his physical—in the first week of October.

We arrived promptly at the correct time of my appointment and I found myself wanting an easy distraction, so I picked up a _People_ magazine, while Hunter chose a _Men’s Health_. I looked over the articles of what my father used to call ‘high-class tabloids’ and wondered if I shouldn’t begin therapy. Perhaps if I spoke with George Huang, I could better understand why only my brother and sister were singled out for abuse and not myself. Yes, I was glad that I wasn’t molested, but part of me was still curious about the reason behind it.

“Maggie Grayson?” the ultrasound technician called out.

“Right here,” I said, and was pleased that Hunter immediately put the magazine aside and helped me to my feet. We followed the ultrasound tech down the hallway and towards an exam room, where I was told to lie upon my back and lift my shirt as I oriented myself a bit better.

The woman promptly squirted the goo onto the wand and proceeded to type the correct pattern of numbers into the computer as she put the wand onto my swollen abdomen. “Here we are,” she says, looking it over. “And you’re, what—eighteen weeks?”

I nod. “Yes, about,” I reply.

“Good length, I see,” the woman continues. “Okay... The amniotic sack isn’t in distress—good level... Did you two want to know the sex?”

“Yes,” Hunter says quickly, and I laugh.

“How about you, Mom?” the woman wants to know.

I nod. “Yes, please,” I reply.

“All right, then, let’s see if I can...” She moves the wand slightly, and soon she has a clear picture. “You’re going to have a beautiful baby boy by next spring, you two,” she tells us.

“A boy,” Hunter breathes, clearly excited.

“Your first?” the woman asks.

“Fourth,” I tell her. “Our oldest is fifteen—she’s adopted; and we have twins that are almost four.”

“Will they be four before their new brother comes?”

I nod. “Yes, and Edythe—our oldest—will be sixteen.”

“Well, I’m sure the two of you will have a lot to discuss and plan for,” she says politely, handing us our pictures. “Get plenty of rest—no heavy lifting, and I’ll see you both for a follow-up in a few weeks.”

Hunter and I leave the place hand in hand and head into Downtown Manhattan where he is going to drop me off at work. He’s arranged to pick me up and drop me off these last couple of weeks, to have as much time together as possible, and I adore his consideration and generosity. As we leave the underground parking garage and merge into traffic, I’m shocked when I receive a call from Olivia, and move to answer the phone.

“Liv? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Where are you?”

“With Hunter. We just had a doctor’s appointment... What is going on?!” I demand then, sensing the edge to her voice.

“Come to the squad room,” she says before hanging up.

I hold my phone briefly in my hands before lowering it, knowing that gripping it in my shock wouldn’t solve anything at all. Shaking my head, I relay the message to Hunter, who’s clearly just as shocked as I am. “Hey, I don’t ask questions,” I say as we navigate towards the building.

Hunter puts his IAB badge on his mirror so as we can park out in front and we quickly get up the front steps and head inside. It is a bitterly cold autumn afternoon and I know that I shouldn’t stress about the temperature—or Olivia’s message—for it isn’t a good idea in my condition. I get the elevator for the two of us and Hunter presses the button, and I find myself tempted to pace in the elevator as we ride up to the correct floor, wondering what Olivia wanted us there for. I shiver almost inadvertently as the chrome doors open, and remember the shooting for what must be the millionth time. I push it from my mind as Hunter and I step into the hallway and down the corridor towards the squad room.

“Liv!” I say, entering the room, Hunter at my side. “What is it? What’s wrong? I need to know what’s happening...”

Olivia sighs and pulls me aside. She nods towards Don’s office, where I see him speaking to John and shaking his hand. She embraces me quickly and claps Hunter on the shoulder as Fin comes up to us.

“Maggie!” he says, happy to see me. “Look at you, you’re out to here!” he jokes, holding out his hands to the extreme. “Tell me, we got another boy in there! Hi, Fin Jr.!” he calls out.

“Well...” I say, turning to Hunter.

Hunter laughs. “You can tell them.”

“Tell us what?” Amanda asks, coming to join us.

“We’re not desperate for information or anything,” Nick jokes, coming up behind her. “None of us are.”

Don’s door opens and I feel myself grin with pride when he beams at the sight of me with Hunter. “Maggie,” he says, pulling me into his arms. “And you, sir,” he says, patting Hunter on the shoulder, “you gave us quite a scare. Never do that again, young man. You hear me?”

Hunter salutes Don. “Loud and clear, sir.”

“Don, what do you know?” I demand then. “Olivia called me here in a panic,” I go on, feeling insecure. “What’s happening?!”

“What’s happening is you’re _huge_!” John replies, stepping forward and kissing me on the cheek. “What _happened_ to you?!”

I turn to Hunter, who nods. “Okay, if I tell you what’s going on in here,” I say, pointing to my belly, “will you tell me what’s going on around here?” I finish, gesturing around the room.

“Yes!” everyone shouts.

I sigh then, impatient with the logic but decided to come clean. “Fine. Fin, you were right. Hunter and I are having a boy!”

Everyone seems to run towards us then, enveloping us in too many hugs to count. I adore hugs, don’t get me wrong, but I seemed to get more during my adult life than I had in my childhood. Jay-Jay was too old and Stella was too cool and Mom and Dad were Mom and Dad. Now that I knew Dad’s full backstory, I felt sickened by the whole institution of my upbringing, and made another mental note to make a call to George.

“Okay, okay, cool it!” I say, turning to Don. “Please, I’m dying here—I need to know, please...”

Don sighs. “I’m glad you’re all here, because John has an announcement,” he says, stepping back.

John sighs then and moves to where Don had been standing. “As all of you know, I have dedicated many years to Special Victims—fourteen years to be precise—and became a detective in 1983. I served my time as a detective and was made a sergeant in 2007, and I couldn’t be happier working here with a captain as kind, caring, and innovative as Don Cragen. I will forever miss Detective Elliot Stabler due to his consideration; I will forever admire Olivia Benson for her drive and compassion; I will forever adore my better half, Fin, for his wise-cracks about my boney ass; I will forever appreciate all I’ve learned from Nick due to his years of undercover work; I will forever achieve to be a better person, just like Amanda, for she always teaches me that that’s how you’re supposed to be; I will forever adore Maggie, because she is now captain of my old stomping ground, and I’m just kissing up because I want her to name her son after me,” he says, and the whole tight-knit group laughs. “And I will forever love the courage shown by Captain Hunter Grayson; in the darkest hour, he was able to keep key information a secret and find his way back home. No, I’m not going to cry, Fin,” John says, shoving away the box of tissues Fin has attempted to put in his face.

“Can’t blame a guy for tryin’,” Fin mutters.

“So, yeah, I guess what I’m trying to say is, this is my official goodbye to the Manhattan Special Victim’s Unit. I’ll be packing up my desk by the end of this week and I will see you all around.”

“Where are you going?” Olivia asks.

“I’m going to be a DA investigator,” John replies.

“No party?!” Fin demands.

“Boo!” Nick declares.

“Suddenly I’m disappointed,” Don utters.

“Can’t get to the finish line without a party,” Amanda says.

“I second that,” Fin puts in.

“It would be fun... God knows I need some fun right now...” I mutter.

“Hey!” Hunter says.

John playfully rolls his eyes at all of us. “Okay! You’re all invited to my goodbye party...”

Fin laughs. “We gonna live it up,” he states.

“When is the party?” Hunter asks.

“Next week,” John says.

“We’ll be there,” I vow.

. . .

Hunter and I return to Westchester that evening and walk in, only to find Edythe on her own with the twins, telling me that she told Helena to go home a half an hour early, which was shocking to me. While the twins were absorbed in _The Princess and the Frog_ on Edythe’s new iPad, Edythe was on the family iPad making dinner and dessert, along with a salad. I raised my eyebrows at this scene, and took note of the roasting chicken and potatoes in the oven, as well as the Caesar salad—halfway prepared on the kitchen island—as well as the mixing bowl with what seemed to contain cake batter, which Edythe was stirring.

“Hey, Mom!” Edythe said, stepping forward and kissing my cheek. “Daddy!” she crowed, setting the bowl down and throwing her arms around him. “I just thought it’d be nice...the dinner, I mean. If it’s too much...”

Hunter smiles and shakes his head. “Sweetheart, it’s perfect.” He sticks his finger impulsively into the bowl of batter.

“Daddy!” Edythe admonished, lightly swiping him with her wooden spoon.

My husband chuckles. “Sorry—I just can’t help myself. White cake is your’s and my favorite.”

Edythe nodded, picking up the bowl again and continuing to mix the batter. “So, how did the doctor’s appointment go today?”

“Well,” I say, turning to Hunter.

Hunter puts an arm around me. “Tell her.”

I turn back to my oldest daughter. “Honey, we’re having a boy!”

Edythe immediately put the mixing bowl back down and threw her arms around the both of us. “That’s amazing! Two for two!”

Livi turns around then, a pucker betwixt her brows. “More babies?”

Donnie slumps in his seat. “Too many...”

I laugh and lean down and kiss both of their heads. “Helena gave them a bath?” I ask, taking note of the fresh scents of their heads.

Edythe giggled and shook her head. “No. That was me.”

“What about school?” Hunter asks.

“Well, I’m only doing online this quarter—my classes are math and English. We have a special homework website for math and we have to turn in one essay a week on the topic of our choice in English.”

“The math assignments are daily, I take it?” I ask Edythe.

She nods. “They are—Monday thru Friday, at least. But I do every assignment on Monday—so I have more time for my essay.”

“So, you’ve finished your math for the week?” Hunter asks.

Edythe smiles. “Yeah, Dad, I have. And I’m halfway done with the essay, which isn’t due until Friday at midnight. I have two whole days to finish it.”

Hunter nods. “All right, then.”

“Hold on,” I say quickly. “What’s your topic this week?”

“When women transferred from just being merely domestics in the households into equal partners in a marriage,” Edythe answers. “I was writing another couple of paragraphs before you came in. Would you like to hear some?”

“That would be lovely,” Hunter said.

Edythe pours the cake batter into a cake pan, scraping the bowl and putting it and the wooden spoon into the sink, whereupon she turns on the hot water faucet and allows them to sit so as the batter doesn’t become totally caked on. She then washes her hands and turns back to her iPad, and minimizes the cake recipe tab and opens a Word document tab. “Okay, here we go... ‘Suffice it to say that men were considered the main, acceptable breadwinners within American and British society for hundreds of years. It wasn’t until the 1920’s in America that women’s rights were finally deemed ‘important’ by various government officials, who decided to give women a voice. While they were given a voice to some extent, it came at the price of having husbands who believed that their opinions should match their wives and vice versa. There are many documented cases of women who have suffered at the hands of their husbands for staying true to their conscience, yet not their partners’.”

Hunter, who was on the edge of his seat, had his mouth hanging open. “Oh, my god, Edythe...”

“That was lovely, sweetheart,” I tell her.

Edythe smiles, basking in our praise. “Thanks, guys. Oh! I’ve got to check the temperature of the chicken.” She shuts off her iPad and puts on a pair of oven mitts and takes out the meat thermometer from its drawer and opening the oven door. I find myself almost giggling at her reaction when the steam hits her face; she pulls out the chicken and potatoes, finding the fattest part upon the creature’s breast and stabbing the thermometer into it, front and center. “Another twenty minutes on that, maybe,” she says, swiftly removing the thermometer and shutting the door in a careful motion.

I watch then as she preheats the bottom oven to three-hundred and fifty degrees and waits for it to beep before slipping the cake inside. “You’re very efficient, darling,” I tell her.

She smiles. “Thanks. Why don’t you two go upstairs? You could take a shower and change into something more comfortable for dinner. I still have to get the table ready and carve the chicken. Then I have to arrange the potatoes and ice the cake and slice it accordingly. There’s plenty of time.”

I am touched by Edythe’s consideration, yet I must still remember that, as an addict, she could presumably be hitting me up for something. I make a mental note to speak with her later as Hunter and I head upstairs, and I am pleased to see that my daughter has put my favorite pink maternity track suit on my bed to wear later for dinner. I immediately lie back on the bed and Hunter steps forward to hang up the track suit for later, coming to lie next to me.

“Should be getting the physical results by the end of next week,” he tells me in a casual manner. “You’d tell me if you had an issue with me going back to work for IAB, wouldn’t you?”

I sigh, turning over on my side to face him. “Of course, you know I would.” I find myself putting a hand to my belly. “I may not be Tucker’s biggest fan but he seems like a good friend to you. I don’t want to be known as the wife who keeps you away from your friends.”

Hunter takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. “You’re not worried about me?” he wants to know.

I smile ruefully. “Of course, you know I am. Especially after all these recent developments. I mean, I almost lost you, and we really lost Mason. And now SVU is losing John. It’s almost as if things are coming full circle.”

Hunter leans over and brushes his lips with mine, before lowering his eyes to my hands, overlapping on my expanding belly. He kisses my hands and moves downward to kiss where it has swollen the most. “Have you been thinking of names for this one?” he asks.

I smile. “You know, I actually have. Have you?”

“Yeah—how about Harley Davidson Grayson?”

I make a face. “You’re joking, right?”

He nods. “Of course—we’re not a biker family, and we never will be.”

“Good,” I reply, moving over to get into his arms. “Because I _like_ our family, just as we are.”

. . .

The following week, Hunter passes his physical with flying colors and the pair of us head into Manhattan for John’s farewell party. It is at this swanky joint that has been decked out for the occasion, and John is looking dapper in his tailor-made white suit, which of course suits him perfectly. Hunter and I have managed to procure an exclusive gift package from The Trilogy Bistro for John, which includes a tasting menu, as well as access to the back kitchen, where he can talk to the chefs and get to really know his food before he eats it. We get a personal card for John as well, and I notice how much Hunter has thanked him for being such a good friend to me.

As we’re driving there, a name for our son pops into my head. We get out of the car at the end of the road, and I watch as Hunter hands over his set of keys to the valet and we head inside. I pull him aside before we enter the event room, and I quickly smile up at my gorgeous husband.

“I have a name,” I tell him. “A name for our son.”

Hunter grins. “All right. Tell me.”

“Mason John Grayson,” I reply.

My husband’s eyes fill with momentary tears as his face continues to grin down upon me. “Oh... My darling, you’re wonderful!” he proclaims, pulling me into his arms and kissing me on the cheek.

“Thank you,” I reply. “I thought I could tell John myself tonight—as sort of another goodbye present.”

“Fin will probably be disappointed we’re not calling him ‘Fin Jr.’,” Hunter tells me candidly.

“No, he won’t,” I say. “Donnie’s middle name is Fin.”

Hunter shakes his head. “Leave it to me not to remember that.”

I giggle and the two of us walk inside, and I find myself admiring the gorgeous architecture of the place, and know full well that John and his expensive tastes have come to light. I spot him standing by himself, merely observing, and Hunter heads over to the gift table to drop off our rather large envelope. I head over to John, and tread carefully, knowing full well that—though he does well beneath it—he is truly a modest man who doesn’t care too terribly much for being under the spotlight.

“It’s the man of the hour,” I say as I approach him, and John smiles at me. “You look wonderful this evening, John.”

“Thank you, Maggie—you’re radiant as always,” he tells me, leaning in and kissing me on the cheek. “Pregnancy suits you, really.”

“Thank you, John,” I say. “Actually, Hunter and I wanted you to be the first to know that we’ve decided on a name for Baby Grayson number four...”

He smiles, clearly pleased. “Why me? I know we’re good friends, Maggie, and I’ve given you plenty of advice for Homicide but...” He sighs. “You’re closer to Liv, Don, and Fin, which I don’t fault you for, really... And then there was that whole thing with Elliot...”

I sigh. “Yeah...that’s complicated...”

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I won’t pry.”

I smile. “No, it’s okay, I...” I bite my lip. “He knows, and Fin, and Don, and Liv knows, so you may as well know, too...”

“Know what?”

“Before Elliot decided to get back with Kathy... I’m sure you know the extent of how close we were...”

John nods. “Yes, I know. I didn’t want to pry, so I just kept mum about the whole thing. It was none of my business.”

“No, it wasn’t, but now that you’re leaving...” I keep smiling, my teeth clenched together, because I don’t want to cry, not here, not at his farewell party for god’s sake. “Before Elliot decided to get back with Kathy—after they conceived Eli—I found out that I was pregnant, too...”

“It was Elliot’s?”

I nod; for some people, the question could be insensitive; for John, it clearly was not. I knew how close he and Elliot were, so there was no reason to be offended by him asking it. “Yes, it was Elliot’s. I left town soon after I heard that he’d had sex with Kathy and I went back to Seattle, but was turned away after they knew the circumstances, so I...”

“You terminated the pregnancy?” John asks, not rudely.

I nod again. “Yes. Yes, I terminated the pregnancy. The doctors said it couldn’t have been more than a few weeks in—nothing viable at that point. I just didn’t see any way out and something told me that the thing with Elliot was temporary, so I didn’t feel the need to have a constant reminder of it...”

“Wait... Maggie, did you feel selfish for doing what you did?”

“For a long time, yeah, I did, John... Such a long time...”

John smiles in sympathy and brings me in for a hug. “You were very young at that time, Maggie. It was not a selfish thing to do—you did what you had to do, but, in the process, you may have done some damage to yourself. Don’t ever forget that you did what was best for you, and you should never fault yourself for putting yourself first in that situation.”

“Thank you, John,” I say softly.

He pulls back. “Now,” he says, “tell me about this name you’ve decided on for your son.”

“Hunter and I have decided on Mason John Grayson for his name,” I reply. “If that is all right with you, of course.”

“Mason for his brother and John...”

“For you,” I tell him with a smile. “We’ve already got an Olivia and a Don-Fin, so it’s only natural that we incorporate your name into our next child somehow.”

John grins. “That’s the best farewell gift anyone ever came up with,” he says, pulling me back into his arms.

“You’re not keeping the kid, now, John,” I scold him.

John laughs, pulling me back to look me over. “You’ve done so well for yourself, Maggie. I’ll admit—as all police officers do—that when you first came on the scene, that there were some doubts about you and your credibility. However, I know that they were unfounded, and just the doubts of an old man who needed to know how to be young again.” He squeezes my shoulders. “I know Homicide made the right choice when they snapped you up.”

I smile at him. “Thank you, John. That means the world, coming from you.”

“And don’t you forget it,” he replies with a smile.

. . .

Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas flew by faster than any of us had ever expected in our lifetime. In the middle of January, I was summoned to Don’s office where I was surprised to find him quite alone. I wave to everyone in the squad room before tapping on his door; I felt a sense of foreboding in the atmosphere as I let myself into his office, putting a smile onto my face.

“Don,” I say, accepting his hug as he shuts the door behind me. “I’m surprised that I don’t see George. Last time I was called to talk under these circumstances, I had to speak to George.”

He chuckles. “George is still hard at work in Oklahoma City,” Don tells me. “I hear he’s working on something big—it’s all confidential, of course.”

“Of course,” I say, smiling when he offers me a seat. “So, why have I been summoned here, Don?”

He sighs. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, Maggie, but shortly after you took Edythe and company on the cruise, I was arrested for murder.”

My eyebrows come together at that. “Don, that was almost two years ago. Why are you telling me this now?”

He sighs. “Well, I’m getting to be that age when everyone is staring readily at me and I know they’ll be wanting my job...”

“Don,” I whisper, “the murder charge...”

“Was all a fluke—it doesn’t matter now, I’ve been acquitted,” he tells me. “But I do know that me and Eileen...”

“Your girlfriend?” I ask.

He nods. “Yes, my girlfriend.” He smiles. “I’ve been happier with her than I ever thought possible after Marge died...”

“Your wife?” I ask him.

He sighs. “Yes. She was a flight attendant—she died in a plane crash before I became commanding officer,” he explains. “But Eileen and I, we’re going to travel the world together...”

“You’re taking some time off?” I ask him, finding myself gripping tightly onto the arms of my chair. I know full well that it isn’t true—whether I liked it or not, Don _was_ getting older, and I had to face facts, but I couldn’t... “Don, give it to me straight, please. I mean...you are coming back, aren’t you?”

Don smiles, reaching down and bringing me to my feet. “I’ve watched you grow so much with your division, Maggie—you went from a police officer, to a detective, to a sergeant, to a lieutenant, to a captain...and now, a wife and mother.” He pulls me into a hug. “I know that SVU will be fine...”

“Don...”

“SVU _will_ be fine,” Don says softly in my ear, “because I’ve asked Olivia to take the Sergeant’s Exam,” he tells me.

“What?” I ask, lifting my face up to look into his eyes. “Don...” I feel my eyes filling with tears. “You’re...?”

He smiles, sympathetic. “I know that you’ve looked up to me as a daughter would a father all these years, Maggie, but...”

“Not looked up to,” I whisper. “You _are_ my father, Don. Over these years, after I discovered what the main who raised me really was, what he’d become...” I shake my head. “You, Donald Cragen, are my father. Always will be.”

He leans down and kisses my forehead. “Well, I’m proud to think of you as my daughter, Maggie.”

I nod at him. “I know SVU will be fine,” I say softly. “I just hate it when it’s time to say goodbye...”

I leave Don’s office in a daze, stumbling down the hallway. I find myself ill at ease; I know SVU can survive without Don, I know it can. But there is that nagging feeling in the back of my mind that I cannot shake. Who will be there when Don is not, to fill the void of the father I never truly had? Pushing the thought from my mind, I make my way outside and to my car, ready to return to Westchester; as I was so close to my due date, I was officially on maternity leave, with Nate and Melanie in charge of Homicide.

Just as I was about to make my way to the freeway, I felt something burst from within me, and I knew it, I just knew it... Assessing that my water had broken, I quickly made my way across town to the hospital. I quickly called Hunter, and he assured me that he would be there to meet me as soon as possible. I parked my car and went inside the hospital, going on a rather shaky autopilot and running on my reserves of adrenaline, knowing that the time had come.

I went up to the front desk and gave my name, informing the receptionist of what was happening. She summoned a nurse who brought a wheelchair and I gave them Hunter’s name and information so as when he arrived, he’d be able to find me. I was then wheeled back to an exam room, where the nurse summoned the doctor who told me that I was at eight centimeters, but given those circumstances, it was too late for any pain medication at this point. I gritted my teeth as I was put into a hospital gown, gripping the arms of the birthing chair, attempting to ease the pain I felt with the pressure of a grip.

Hunter arrived shortly thereafter, taking a seat at my side and holding onto my hand and letting me know that he loved me and that everything would work itself out. He seemed at ease with my pain, having gone through this once before, and I decided that I could have this baby without medication. Gritting my teeth, I felt relief that it was just one baby, and was also relieved when the doctor returned and informed me that the pushing could commence. Feeling the opposite of camera-ready, I complied, and—about an hour and a half later—Hunter and I welcomed our second son into the world.

“Have you decided on a name?” the doctor asked after handing him over to the nurses to weigh him and give him his immunizations.

“Mason John Grayson,” I wheeze, and a nurse quickly writes down the name information, looking to Hunter to make sure she spells everything correctly before a second nurse hands over the squalling infant to me.

“He’s healthy,” she tells me softly. “We weighed him at seven pounds, five ounces, which is a good weight... You said you were early?”

“Two and a half weeks,” I reply, bringing down the hospital gown to feed Mason, who was already reaching to latch on.

She nods. “Well, then, I think you’ve got yourself a healthy infant there,” she proclaims before she, the other nurse, and the doctor leave us alone.

Hunter, beaming, returns to sit beside me. “He’s beautiful,” he proclaims, leaning down and kissing his head.

Mason’s head was covered with jet-black hair, and his eyes were a deep blue, and I found it would be impossible to tell for a few months whose eyes he would get. His nose was mine—upturned—as were his lips, but he’d already decided to have his father’s hair. He truly was a beautiful baby, and soothed easily, do to him drifting off quickly after he’d finished eating.

“Olivia and the gang are here,” Hunter told me quietly. “And Jay-Jay and Martin are heading down. Plus, Edythe is bringing the twins later...”

I manage to straighten my hospital gown so as nothing vital was showing. “I look like a wreck, but the hell with it. They’re our friends. Let them in.”

. . .

I returned to work about three months after Mason was born, and Helena—who had married Sebastian last Christmas—was utterly besotted with him. She had plans to stay with us after Sebastian had finished his residency, under the watchful eye of a friend of Jay-Jay’s, and then she would help me in finding a replacement nanny for the twins and Mason. I had been so pleased with her that part of me envisioned Helena staying with us forever; however, she knew that Sebastian would make plenty of money for them to live off, so she planned on returning to school as soon as possible, to realize her dream of being a lawyer.

The first new development I heard upon my return to the squad at the end of April was that Jimmy had proposed to Melanie, who had accepted. I anticipated on getting a call from Ed Tucker about the engagement, but I merely received an email about the subject, regarding professionalism in the workplace. He explained that the previous ruling of marriages between detectives and whatnot were ridiculous and that, if professionalism was always adhered to, that we would face no problem from IAB, thankfully.

May dawned and Olivia was entering her fourth month as Sergeant of SVU as second in command, with the post of commanding officer being taken by Declan Murphy, much to everyone’s chagrin. At the end of the month, however, Murphy left SVU and returned to Manhattan Vice, thus making Olivia commanding officer once again. I felt a sense of unease wash over me, fearing the days when William Lewis was after her, and nearly got me as well...


	20. In the Blink of an Eye

William Lewis had been a spree rapist and murderer, and after being caught, his attorney posted bail and he was out. I showed up at the squad as soon as I heard the news broke, and managed to find Olivia. She was alone, in one of the interrogation rooms off the hallway, and I found myself flashing back to the day that Don had told the both of us that Elliot wasn’t coming back. Feeling a sense of foreboding within me once again, I pushed open the door, and stood there, hesitating in the doorway, the only sound being emitted from the room was that of Olivia’s sobbing, and my heart immediately went out to her.

Shutting the door behind me, I quickly crossed the room and put my arms around her, the words revealing my true identity on the tip of my tongue. As Olivia turned and threw her arms around me, her sobs turned into soft wails. She couldn’t speak and, once again, I kept my mouth shut tight. How in the hell could I tell her now, when she had a target shape painted on her forehead?

“Liv, don’t do this to yourself,” I whisper. “Come back to Westchester with me tonight, please. Hunter is away on that assignment with Mason, and Edythe is still in that rehab for another couple of months. Helena’s taken the kids, so it’s just me there. Please, come to my house. You’ll be safe...”

“Can’t,” Olivia said, pulling back. “I really appreciate the offer, Maggie, really I do, but in going to your house...” She shakes her head. “It’s almost as if I’m running away from it all. And besides, it’d be putting you in danger, too, and I couldn’t do that... Not to you.”

“Why?” I whisper. “I’m a police officer, too. Why wouldn’t you treat me the same as everyone else?”

“Because you’re not the same,” Olivia replies swiftly, dashing the tears from her eyes and leaving me alone in there.

I made the drive to Westchester alone that evening, as usual; it was unseasonably raining as I made my way to the highway, feeling nervous and scared for Olivia. I knew that she could handle herself, but my heart was in several places that night—with Helena and the twins; with Edythe at her rehab; with Olivia and all her bundles of nerves and attempts at bravery; and especially at Hunter, in whatever location he was with Mason. I finally found the proper exit in the semi-darkness and made my way through the roads and towards the gate of the community, before typing in the correct password and letting myself in. Down the curved street and then down the cobbled road where, at the end of it, I would have reached my home.

I put my car in the garage and make sure to lock everything behind me. Making my way up the back stairs, I flick on the lights as I go, heading into the kitchen to make myself a late dinner. I decide on a chicken breast and a baked potato, as well as a salad, and—as I’m readying everything—I head into the living room to see what is on T.V. that night. As I’m mentally deciding what to watch—nothing news oriented because I absolutely do not want to see _anything_ about the Lewis case—I come to a stop by the elaborate mirror in the hallway.

The mirror—a gift from Derrick for the wedding—was one of those that you would probably see in a French palace or something. He claimed to have found it while on a retreat somewhere in Europe, but now...now it was ruined! Written in what appeared to be blood was the following: I know where you are, Captain Maggie Grayson. Don’t hesitate to presume that I don’t know where Olivia is. I am going to her now. Don’t wait up, because as soon as I’m finished with her, all of her, you’re next. —WL

I can barely contain my screams of fear as I quickly manage to find my phone, and make the necessary calls needed. This had to get out—lives were at stake: Mine, Olivia’s, and all that was dear to me.

. . .

“Maggie! Maggie, wake up! It’s all right!”

“No, stop!” I find myself screaming, my eyes shooting open, and my arms almost immediately going around Hunter. “It was awful...!”

“Shh,” he whispers. “Tell me what happened.”

“Lewis,” I whisper. “His kidnapping Olivia, and his trying to get to me... It was all so awful...”

Hunter pulls me closer. “We discussed it briefly after I got back, but we never really fully discussed what happened to you...”

“He tried to rape me,” I say softly. “Suffice it to say, it wasn’t successful.” I cross my arms. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Hunter says, backing off. “Is that all that’s bothering you?”

“Yes,” I snap back, turning to face the clock. “Oh! Dammit. The alarm was shut off again! I’m so late...”

“Late for what?” Hunter asks, and it is then that I notice that he’s already dressed and ready to go.

“The verdict on Baby Boy Doe—the one that Olivia found in the house of those porn producers,” I reply. “I promised her I’d go to court with her today.”

“That can’t be easy for you,” Hunter says softly as I proceed to chuck my nightclothes into the hamper.

“Excuse me?” I ask.

“You, witnessing Olivia give so much concern to a baby, one that isn’t even her own,” he observes.

I feel myself gritting my teeth. “Of course it isn’t,” I reply.

“Then why go?” he asks. “Why put yourself through that?”

I sigh. “Because Olivia is my friend,” I reply. “And besides, if it gets out that I’m feeling jealous, people will question it. I can’t have that.”

“Maggie...”

“No.” I raise my hand. “Olivia gave me up while she was in college, so me suddenly telling her after all these years... No. Not going to happen.”

“Odd, really,” Hunter observes.

“What?”

“She has that younger brother—Simon, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, Simon. What about him?”

“Well, she ran her DNA through that kinship analysis...”

“How did you...?”

“Elliot knew, who told Don, who told Ed, who told me. If you’re a cop, your blood is probably on record somewhere. How could she not know, if...?”

“Don called in a few favors,” I reply. “It was almost five years after she initially found Simon... But I guess one of Don’s favors was keeping it under wraps. He called the DNA lab and told them that I wanted to keep it confidential... I don’t know much about it. If you remember correctly, it was not an easy conversation to have—I was pretty mad at him...”

“You also filed for divorce at that point,” Hunter puts in, running a comb through his hair as I turn on the shower water. “Forgive me if I can’t quite remember a time when you weren’t exactly my favorite person.”

I take great delight in that moment as I throw off my robe and step into the shower in that next moment. “You’re welcome to join me,” I tell him.

He sighs. “I’d love to, but I’m running late, too,” he says, leaning over and kissing me briefly. “Temptress,” he mutters, a chuckle in the back of his throat, as he leaves me to continue my morning routine.

. . .

I arrive at the courthouse, late of course, and make my way to the front desk. I find myself tapping my fingers impatiently on the fine oak, annoyed that nobody is there to direct me. Growing frustrated at my own lateness and people’s inability to assist me, I decide to take off on my own and attempt to find the courtroom on my own. Heading off down the hallway, I hear a female judge speaking, and a faint reply of, “Yes, Your Honor” and I immediately recognize Olivia’s voice.

“Sergeant Benson, you rescued the infant, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Olivia replies.

“And you’re the only one who’s taken a consistent interest on his behalf. Is there any chance you might like to become a foster mother to this baby?”

I immediately stop walking. I am just on the other side of the doorway, so nobody in the courtroom would be able to see me. I cannot think—I _cannot_ think! I am utterly shaking, wondering what Olivia’s response will ultimately be. Although it seems like years, in reality, it is just a few moments.

“I’m sorry. Excuse me, Your Honor?” Olivia asks.

“I have a feeling about this, Sergeant Benson,” the judge replies. “Call it a judge’s hunch. If you agree, I will order Noah Porter into your care as custodial parent for one year, at which time you will be given the option to permanently adopt him. Do you agree?”

I am numb as Olivia stands there, presumably dumbfounded, and, ultimately, tells the judge that she would love to. I quickly turn on my heel and run as fast as I can down the hallway, not bothering to look back. I get to the parking garage and find myself unlocking my car door and slamming it behind me. I am gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles are quickly turning white—I cannot allow myself to think.

 _Of course Olivia will adopt him_ , I tell myself bitterly. _She’ll adopt him and will be seen as the hero cop who adopted an unwanted baby._ I couldn’t believe I was being so negative about the whole thing—I myself had made the choice not to tell Olivia about her being my birth mother, as well as forcing everyone else who knew that fact to keep silent as well. I wipe the tears from my eyes, noticing that Olivia has texted me, asking me where I was, that she was looking for me. I know what I have to do—I know what I have to say.

But I don’t; I don’t say anything, other than making up a quick lie about traffic as I cannot bring myself to shatter her perfect world. In that moment, I envisioned a new life for Olivia Benson and knew, deep down, that I could not bring myself to ruin it in the slightest. Putting my key into my ignition, I drove out of the parking lot and made my way over to Homicide—it would be nearly a year before I spoke to Olivia again.

. . . 

I know I am dreaming as soon as I enter that room. The notion hit me immediately, and I found myself shaking. However, I forced myself to go through the motions, although part of me didn’t know that it was forceful, deliberate, anything like that at all...

_I was seventeen years old, weeks from my own eighteenth birthday, when that day happened—when it happened. He must’ve seen me through the crowd of other kids—I don’t know. I remember using the facilities but then he charged into the bathroom as I was washing my hands. I found out later that the sick bastard had put an “OUT OF ORDER” sign on the door so nobody could come in—clever son of a bitch, let me tell ya. He managed to throw my purse across the room—this was 2003, so I guess he didn’t feel the need to check if I had a cell phone on me—and pin my hands behind my back, before I had a chance to break away. He held me there, tearing through my sweater tights and pulling up the above-the-knee-length skirt of my new dress and pinned me to the counter. Grunting like a dog in heat into my ear, I felt him shove himself inside me._

_Naturally, I tried to scream; I’d only dated three boys in high school—Bobby Thompson, Derrick Howard, and Lewis Monroe—and I hadn’t slept with any of them, or anyone, for that matter. Writhing against him in an attempt to get away from him, he chuckled—maybe he thought I wanted him. Having no experience in this field, all I could do was do my best to look away from my pathetic expression in the mirror in front of me, however, he thought of that, too. Gripping me tightly and angling my neck the way he wanted, he forced me to witness my attack; he also manages to choke me every few seconds as well. Then after maybe three or four minutes, which seemed like hours, he pulled away from me and cleaned himself off—my blood had gotten on him—and left the bathroom quickly and quietly._

_Shaking and nearly blinded by my tears, I managed to pull my skirt down and dash over to my phone. I’d read somewhere that your first instinct if you’re assaulted is to take a shower—that is probably the worst thing you can do. Fumbling with my purse, I quickly lock the bathroom door to prevent him coming back if he changed his mind at letting me live. Then, I open my bag and get my slim, silver cell phone out and open it quickly, the numbers 9-1-1 appearing on my screen as soon as I’ve entered them onto the keypad._

_“9-1-1, what is your emergency?” asks the woman on the other end._

_“I’ve just been raped,” I whisper, managing to form the words. “I was raped... I need help, please...”_

_“Okay, we can help you. Where are you?”_

_“FAO Schwarz in the ladies’ room,” I reply quickly._

_“What’s your name, honey?” the woman asks._

_“Maggie,” I reply. “Maggie Isabelle Holbrook...”_

I find myself reaching out then, wanting to touch the reflection of the young girl in the mirror—the girl who would fall in love with two cops; the girl who would go undercover to save the first child she had ever come to love maternally; the girl who would be scarred for life from one event, putting her on a different path forever; and the girl keeping such a dark secret, it was consuming her alive. I found myself screaming again, tossing and turning, whereupon strong hands took ahold of me and I found myself shaking.

“Maggie!” Hunter’s voice resonated in my ears and my hands, once defensive claws, flattened to welcoming arms as I threw my arms around him. “Wake up. It was only a dream...”

“Nightmare,” I whisper, my eyes flying open.

“Lewis again?” Hunter asks.

“No... FAO Schwarz—the rape,” I reply.

Hunter pulls me close. “I can call in sick for you, if you like,” he tells me.

I shake my head. “No, believe me... In the year that Olivia took Noah Porter in, I’ve taken more days off than I ever had. I almost missed Melanie and Jimmy’s wedding last month. I won’t take any more time off unless I’m dying of typhoid or something. Case closed.”

I take a quick shower and make a grab for a cereal bar from the kitchen, while I turn to see Edythe coming out of her room. My seventeen-year-old daughter, now in college online, gives me a quizzical look then, assessing the situation. She had taken every psychology class she could get her hands on, and found she truly enjoyed it, but still had her heart set on being a cop. I step forward and kiss her forehead, and yet she still gives me that look.

“You had a nightmare,” she says softly.

“Mom, is Edythe being psychic again?” Livi asks.

“No fair! I wanted to asks that!” Donnie complains.

“Kids, come on, now,” I say, admonishing my five-year-old twins. “Your sister is just assessing my mind—no harm, no foul.”

“Fowl! Like bird!” two-year-old Mason chimes in.

I chuckle. “Something like that,” I reply.

“We should start him on homonym lessons,” Edythe says softly.

“Shh!” I say, trying not to laugh. “Okay. Well, I have to head out now. Nate may think that he’s captain now,” I joke, leaving the kitchen and heading down to my car. It is a warm, late spring day, and I find I am feeling optimistic as I head down the driveway. I make my way to the freeway, loving the fact that there is no traffic on the roads, and get into Manhattan quickly. I easily make my way towards the Homicide building, parking in my allotted parking space and making my way into the building. I get upstairs and wave to everybody, stepping into my office, which is when everything comes to a head...

. . .

_A woman with short, brown hair, similar to mine, states to a man of tall height and pale eyes that she’ll ride along with me and climbs in beside me in the ambulance. I hear the squeak of the doors shutting behind her and then a light slap-slap as someone—presumably the man she spoke to—urges the ambulance to get to the hospital._

_“Maggie?” says the woman, and I turn to look at her. “My name is Olivia, I’m a police detective with the Special Victims’ Unit. Can you tell me what happened to you?”_

_I sigh, nodding, the tears escaping. “The son of a bitch raped me,” I reply._

_She nods, her eyes understanding. “I know you’re angry, Maggie, but the sooner you tell me everything, the sooner I can get out of your hair.” She takes a moment for her words to sink in before continuing. “Some of the officers noticed that there was an “OUT OF ORDER” sign on the bathroom door. Do you know anything about that?”_

_I shake my head vehemently. “No!” I cry. “There wasn’t when I went back there, I swear! An employee showed me the restroom and assured me that everything back there was working fine...”_

_She nods again. “Okay. So you went in there to use the bathroom. You said an employee showed you. Did you get his name?”_

_I nod. “Yeah. Karl, with a ‘K’. He wore a nametag.”_

_“Wow. Quick remembering...”_

_“I want to be an actress,” I reply. “I did a few commercials as a child and had to learn how to memorize things quickly. I was doing lead roles by middle school and got to play Annie.” I shrug. “Memorization comes easily to me.”_

_“Well, that could be helpful to us,” Olivia encourages. “Then what happened next, after Karl showed you to the bathroom? Did you end up using the bathroom or did the man follow you in there quickly?” She senses my anxiety before she reaches out to take my hand. “I know it’s not easy, and I can’t begin to imagine what’s going through your mind, but please, tell me.”_

_I lower my eyes then, and feel my hands shaking. “He pinned me to the bathroom counter after I washed my hands,” I say quietly. “He got my hands wrapped around my waist and pinned them at the base of my waist. He... He ripped my tights,” I say, pulling up my skirt ever so slightly to show her the damage done by the perfect stranger. I let go of the skirt at the sight of blood, shivering as I feel a new set of tears coming._

_“Take your time,” Olivia says, jotting a few things down on one of those miniature notepads you can find at any drug store check-out._

_“He forced himself inside me, and then he managed to wrap his other hand up around my body and managed to clamp my mouth shut while holding my neck in place...” More tears form as I force myself to get the words out. “He wanted me to watch him rape me,” I whisper._

_“Very good,” Olivia says, shaking her head at my plight. “Did he do anything else after that?”_

_“He laughed when I started crying,” I confess. “He slapped my ass a few times and that’s when...” My eyes widen then, recalling something._

_“What, Maggie?” Olivia asked. “What happened?”_

_“He spoke to me,” I whisper. “I’m just remembering it now...I’m sorry.”_

_“That’s okay,” Olivia assures me. “People who are raped will frequently remember key details later. Do you remember what he said?”_

_“He said, ‘Every first time’s gotta be special. Bet you’re happy it was me, huh? I wanna thank you for being so sweet to me’. Then he said, ‘Hit me up sometime’, and put his number in my hand... I think I dropped it into my purse...”_

_Olivia’s eyes widen then as she immediately pulls a pair of disposable gloves onto her hands and grabs an evidence bag. She searches my purse, finding the scrap of paper with a number written in Sharpie. “Great,” she says, putting it into the evidence bag. “We’ll call the number, see what we can get, if we can manage to dust it for fingerprints.”_

_I nod. “Thanks, Olivia,” I reply._

_She returns my nod. “Don’t mention it. Just doing my job.”_

. . . 

“Hello, Olivia,” I say, making my way to my coat rack and hanging up my sweater before turning back to her. “Trying out the Homicide Unit’s captain desk out for size?” I joke.

She sighs. “Maggie... Come on. I know you.”

I turn to make sure the door is closed behind me before turning back to her. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Maggie, don’t be difficult,” she replies.

“Is that what you say when Noah is misbehaving?” I ask her.

Olivia’s eyebrows knit together. “I guess I was right.”

“Meaning?”

She gets to her feet. “You’re seeing Noah as a threat to our friendship,” she replies without missing a beat.

 _Almost but not quite_ , I think to myself. “And why do you say that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asks. “I took him into my care a year ago. I came here to offer an olive branch.”

I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

She sighs. “Maggie, I’m adopting Noah.”

“I heard that his birth father came back,” I reply.

“Nick killed him in the line of duty,” Olivia replies. “When Johnny Drake, Noah’s father, was in court, he knew that he wasn’t getting out of his crimes. He shot at some people—a male court officer, Nick, and Judge Elana Barth, but they survived. Stella Lopez, another court officer, however, was held hostage before Johnny Drake shot her.” She chuckles darkly then. “Nick’s blood was all over my hands before they took him in to the hospital. His liver and knee were shot up pretty bad, but he’ll live...”

I shuffle from foot to foot. “Well, I’m sorry about that. I never want anything bad to happen to fellow officers, you know that.”

“And what about good things?” Olivia asks.

I raise my eyes to hers. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m finally getting a shot at having my own family, Maggie. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

I shake my head. “It’s not that simple, Liv.”

“ _Nothing_ is ever simple in our line of work, Maggie. At least Elliot understood that. You?” she laughs darkly again. “You? I think you’re still coming to terms with that fact,” she says, turning and leaving the office.

I feel my eyes beginning to fill with tears as Olivia slams the door behind me, my whole office shaking. I lean back against my desk, not knowing what to do or say in that moment of silence that came after the slam. My mind, naturally, drifted to Elliot, and that first night together we’d had so long ago...

_Elliot asked to walk me back to my place after dinner and I accepted. As we walked he told me some more about the department and when he got to my door, I invited him in. He accepted and came up with me, and I showed him to my living room and we sat on the same couch._

_“Can I ask something personal?” I ask him._

_He nods. “Sure.”_

_“I remember that you wore a wedding ring...”_

_He sighs and nods. “Yeah. My wife and I separated in January. She took the kids, we’ve got four. It’s a long story.”_

_I find myself taking his hand. “I’m so sorry... What are your kids like?”_

_He smiles a little at that. “Well, first there was Maureen—we accidentally got pregnant with her in high school. I married Kathy and joined the Marines before joining the force. Then there was Kathleen, then our twins, Richard and Elizabeth who are just the most rambunctious little monsters...”_

_“I notice you didn’t say ‘devils’,” I say softly. “You’re Catholic?”_

_He nods. “I am.”_

_I nod. “Me, too.”_

_He lowers his eyes, taking his thumb and tracing my knuckles with his finger. “I’m sure you left a brokenhearted guy back in Seattle...”_

_I shake my head. “No. The last guy I dated has already moved on; it was almost a year ago now.” I shrug. “I don’t date much.”_

_“Huh,” Elliot says, processing that information. His eyes lock with mine, and I sense something pass between us then. He leans in and kisses me, and I find myself kissing him back. He reaches out and brings my arms up around his neck, and I find the charge that passes between us to be electric. He leans me back down onto the couch and I lock my legs around his waist, not caring how this makes me look in the slightest. “Where’s your...?”_

_“Down the hall to the left,” I reply._

_Effortlessly, Elliot lifts me to him and carries me to my bedroom, putting me down upon my bed and proceeding to take off my clothes. I sit up then and untie his tie and help him in throwing off his dinner jacket. He gets out of his pants and soon is standing there in nothing but an undershirt and a pair of boxers; and I felt my desire ebb within me. I’d quickly done the math, and it didn’t matter that I was five years younger than his daughter; we both wanted this. I dug in my nightstand drawer and got him out a condom (I’d been on the pill since I was sixteen and never skipped one) and lay back, naked, waiting for him. He undressed fully and climbed on top of me, adjusting himself and putting the rubber onto his appendage, a devilish smile framing his lips._

_I return the smile as he angles himself appropriately, and then he is suddenly inside me, and I let out a yelp at how good and satisfying it feels. “Elliot,” I whisper over and over again._

_After two hours of heady lovemaking, I slip on a pair of underwear and a T-shirt as Elliot dresses himself. I walk him to the door, pulling on a sweater as I go, and open it up for him. He turns around then, the same look in his eyes. “We’ll have to do this again sometime,” he tells me._

_I nod. “I’d like that.” I stand on my toes and kiss him; I feel delicious inside as he pulls me firmly by my waist to taste every bit of me. When he lets me go, I let out a sad little sigh of yearning, but he tilts my chin up._

_“I got your number, don’t worry,” he says with a smile. “I’ll call you soon. Okay? I promise, Maggie.”_

_I smile back. “I know.”_

_“Goodnight, Maggie.” He leans down to kiss me again._

_I keep ahold of his hand as he walks away from me, waving to him. “Goodnight, Elliot,” I reply._

. . .

I try and fail to take care of the mountain of paperwork that has accumulated in my many absences at work. I felt like a total insignificant bitch for what I’d been doing and how I’d been treating Olivia. This whole time, I’d acted like she had known about this whole thing—that she’d known about me being her biological daughter all these years, and that she had deliberately begun the process of adopting Noah as her son to spite me. Of course, my mind hastily put those thoughts to bed, although this whole process cut like a knife.

I dashed the tears from my eyes as I forced myself to work. Around noon, after about three hours of working hard, a tap on my office door had me automatically telling the knocker to come in, and I was surprised to see Edythe stepping in and shutting the door behind me. She informed me that she had come into town to take me to lunch and, thankful for the welcoming distraction, consented, leaving my paperwork—halfway done—in a heap on my desk. I left the office and picked this Italian café close by. Because it was so warm, the pair of us decided to eat our panini sandwiches outside.

“You look like a wreck,” Edythe tells me blithely, biting into her steak and cheddar panini. “What happened?”

I sigh. “Olivia came to see me today.”

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

I lower my chicken pesto panini onto my plate. “Over a year ago,” I reply. “I went to family court that day to check on the Noah Porter case and the judge asked Olivia if she wanted to be his foster mother...”

“Yeah, I remember now,” Edythe says, smiling at me sympathetically. “Why did she want to see you today?”

I sigh. “She’s going to be adopting Noah.”

“When?”

“Soon, I think. It wasn’t a particularly long conversation.”

Edythe nods, taking another bite of her sandwich and swallowing. “And you’re upset because you thought that she didn’t want kids, which is why she put you up for adoption, and now you’re feeling left out?”

“I understand her decision to put me up for adoption,” I say, hating myself for coming to Olivia’s defense. “It couldn’t have been an easy choice for anyone—let alone a girl in college. But, of course I’m upset. All I ever wanted was to be able to tell her the truth, but it’s not that simple.”

Edythe purses her lips. “What’s not so simple? It’s a secret you’ve held onto for four years—that’s all it is.”

“Four years?” I ask, laughing. “Sometimes I forget that I’m nearing thirty...”

“M- _om_! This is serious,” Edythe says, growing impatient. “Nobody is stopping you except yourself. Just tell her. I know it’s killing you not to.”

I smile across the table at the beautiful, intelligent young woman that my daughter has become. It was a far cry than what she was when I first met her...

. . .

_I notice that none of the detectives for Special Victims Unit are there yet, and I am told by Samantha and the acting officer on the scene to go and check on the child. It is a Caucasian female, who is curled slightly into a fetal position and is lying on her side on a stretcher. Biting my lip, I make my way over towards her, giving her a small smile as I approach._

_“Hi, I’m Maggie,” I tell her gently. “What’s your name?”_

_“Edythe,” she says quietly. “With a ‘Y’, not an ‘I’.”_

_“Well, that’s a very pretty name,” I tell her. “How old are you?”_

_“Seven,” she says._

_“Wow, you’re a very big girl,” I tell her with a smile. “How are you doing?” I take in her injuries; from what I’d learned about anatomy from peering at my mother’s patient notes and Jay-Jay’s medical textbooks, she seemed to have some minor head trauma, due to the medium-sized gash on her forehead, which was being treated by the responding EMT’s._

_“Okay... My head hurts,” she said quietly, reaching upwards to touch it._

_“No, Edythe, you can’t touch it,” I tell her gently. “You could get an infection if you touch it—you wouldn’t want that, would you?”_

_She nods, biting her lip, attempting to be brave. “Would you hold my hand, please?” she asks, tears welling in her silver eyes._

_I nod, smiling at her. “Of course.” I reached out and took her hand; I had minored in psychology, mainly with children, in college, and I knew that it was always good to comfort a child who is in distress. “Better?”_

_She gives a tiny nod. “Yes.”_

_I give her an encouraging smile. “Good. We want you to be comfortable.”_

_She lowers her eyes. “My mommy was hurt,” she says softly._

_I raise my eyebrows. “I’m sorry, Edythe, really...”_

_“She went through the windshield,” she whispers. “Glass went everywhere... I got scared, so I crouched behind the seat... Glass is dangerous...”_

_I nod down at her. “That’s right. You could get serious cuts.” I hesitate for a moment, but I know that I shouldn’t stop her from talking. “Was your mommy driving the car?”_

_She shakes her head. “Jake was driving,” she replies._

_“Who’s Jake, then?” I ask._

_“Mommy’s boyfriend,” she replies, suddenly not making eye contact with me and picking the side of the canvas on the stretcher; there is a loose thread there, and she seems suddenly very interested in it. “He does bad things...”_

_“What kind of bad things?” I ask._

_She shrugs. “I don’t know...”_

_“Does he call you bad names?” I ask her._

_She sighs, then says, “Yes.”_

_I nod. “What kind of bad names does he call you?”_

_“He calls me ‘stupid’,” she replies. “That’s not nice, is it?”_

_I shake my head. “No, sweetheart, that’s not nice. Does Jake ever call you any other bad names?”_

_She sighs. “He called me a ‘bitch’ once,” she says, whispering the offending word, almost as if she’ll offend me by saying it. “That was before he slammed my head down on the floor.”_

_I nearly pull away from her in shock. “What did Mommy do when he did that?” I ask her, hoping that her mom swooped in to rescue her._

_“She laughed, said it was a game,” Edythe tells me._

_I bite my lip from the nasty comment that threatened to escape my lips. “Is that all Jake ever did to you?”_

_“No.” She shakes her head._

_“What else did he do?” She sighs, plaintively. “He started putting his hand down there—” She indicated the area between her legs, “—back when it was close to Halloween.” October. “I tried to tell him that I’d tell Mommy, but he said that she wouldn’t believe me. I got scared, so I stayed quiet.”_

_“Is that all Jake did?” I manage to get out._

_“No.” Edythe shakes her head. “He took out his thingy once and told me that it would taste good if I put it in here,” she said, pointing to her mouth. “Then when I wouldn’t do it, he forced it in me, so I bite it. Blood went everywhere, and I got scared again. Then he took off my pants and put it inside me, between my legs, and it hurt... There was more blood too, and he got madder...”_

_“Was that the only time Jake hurt you like that?” I ask her._

_She shook her head. “No.”_

_“When did he start doing that?”_

_“Before Christmas, after Thanksgiving,” she replies. “I know it was December because Mommy changed the calendar in my bedroom.”_

_I nod. The sick son of a bitch had been abusing his girlfriend’s daughter for almost a year and it had gone undetected. Turning around then, I see Elliot and Olivia pulling up, and Elliot has a secret smile for me that Olivia doesn’t see. “I have to leave you now, Edythe,” I say softly. “But some nice people are going to talk to you, okay?”_

_“No!” Edythe screams, pulling away from the doctors and throwing her arms around me as Olivia and Elliot step closer._

_“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” I ask as Olivia and Elliot come up behind me. “Are you okay?”_

_“He’ll do it, like Jake,” she said, nodding at Elliot._

_Olivia, thankfully, steps in. “Well, why don’t I sit with you while Maggie goes and talks to Elliot?” she asks, giving me an understanding smile._

_“Olivia’s really nice,” I reply, consolingly, to Edythe. “I promise.”_

_“Is she your friend?” Edythe asks, regarding Olivia warily._

_“I... Well,” I say, thrown._

_“Yes. We are friends,” Olivia says, shooting me a smile and going over to be with Edythe. “Go on with Elliot,” she says softly to me, and I slip away as Olivia asks Edythe what her favorite color is._

_“Get anything out of her besides that kind of trivial information?” Elliot asks, indicating Olivia’s question._

_I sigh. “Yeah, and it’s not good...”_

_“Well, she’s been abused, that’s evident,” Elliot replies. “Mom’s boyfriend?”_

_I nod. “Yeah, but her mother, too. Her mother knew about it, Elliot. She witnessed it for god’s sake!”_

_“You’re kidding,” Elliot says. I shake my head. “No. She’s witnessed physical abuse—that’s what Edythe says. I would seriously bet money that Edythe’s mother witnessed Jake raping her, but she’s either too scarred or too ashamed to admit it.” I turn around and regard Edythe, speaking to Olivia. “She’ll get it out of her, right?”_

_“Olivia’s the best,” Elliot assures me, then looks me up and down. “You’re a lot like her, you know that?”_

. . .

 _Of course Elliot suspected_ , I admonish myself as I make my way back to the squad room after lunch. I receive a text from Hunter as I step in that says that Olivia’s adoption of Noah Porter has gone through, and that now he is to be formally known as Noah Porter-Benson. She’s having a get-together at her house later that night with Fin, Nick, Amanda, ADA Rafael Barba, and the newest SVU detective, Sonny Carisi. I find that, despite everything, I am glad that Olivia has friends to celebrate with.

Yet I know exactly what to do. After all this time, it has to happen. I head over to her apartment later that night, when I hope that things have died down, and knock on her front door. A peace offering—some blue elephant stuffed animal from a local toy store—is in a bag in my hand, and I feel myself practically shaking as I wait for Olivia to open the door. When she does, I notice the dress she wears is the exact shade of the elephant, and she is shocked at my being there.

“Maggie.”

“Can I come in?” I ask.

She smiles tightly. “Of course. Come in.” She stands back and lets me pass, and, as I do so, I melt at the sight of Noah, playing with some colored blocks on the living room carpet.

“Hey, little man,” I say, kneeling beside him, and feeling utterly pleased when he stares at me with those beautiful eyes of his. “Hi. My name is Maggie, and I know your mommy pretty well.” I reach into my bag and show him the elephant. “I got this for you. It’s very soft so its tusks won’t hurt your face. Would you like to say hello to him?”

Noah smiles a little at the offering and reaches out for the toy, which I promptly hand over to him. He clutches it to him, not wanting to be parted with it, and I find I am pleased at this display of affection. He babbles out a ‘thank you’ after Olivia tells him to do so, whereupon I turn back to her.

“I know you must be wondering why I’m here...”

“Yeah, a little bit,” she replies.

I sigh. “Well, this isn’t an easy thing for me to say... It’s something I’ve been sitting on for four years...”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Well, Don thought that he may be my birth father at one point,” I begin. “He ran my DNA through a kinship analysis and it turned out that he was not my biological father.”

Olivia sighs. “That’s too bad. He’s a great guy...”

“But the analysis came up with a biological mother but no father,” I say quickly to her, knowing that, if I didn’t say it now, I never would. “For four years, I’ve known who she is, and I can’t not tell you anymore.”

“You’ve known?”

“I’ve known,” I reply, “which is why your fostering and adoption of Noah was really hard for me to watch you go through...”

“Maggie...”

“...and I think you know—unconsciously, maybe. I think you’ve known for a long time...”

“...you’re not saying that...”

“I am saying it, Olivia. I’ve tried to tell you so many times, but I couldn’t. I tried to tell you before William Lewis took you that first time; I tried to tell you before you began fostering Noah... So many times these last years, but I just can’t not say this to you anymore, Olivia, I...”

“Maggie, slow down...”

“I can’t. Not anymore. This has to be said, Olivia Benson.” I reach into my handbag and taking out the DNA testing forms. “See? Right there, under biological mother... Do you see what the DNA finds?”

“Olivia Margaret Benson,” Olivia reads.

I nod. “Yes... Now do you understand?”

She raises her eyes to mine. “Maggie... It’s you...”

I sigh, the weight now lifted completely off my shoulders. “Yes. It’s me.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You made a comment once about my birth mother not wanting to be found,” I reply softly. “I thought that you were sending me a signal...”

“Sending you a signal?”

“Yes. That you knew, or thought you knew, or something... That you knew and that you didn’t want to know...”

“Why wouldn’t I want to know?”

“Maybe because you wouldn’t have wanted your daughter being a cop?” I ask her quietly. “Maybe because you didn’t want to have your daughter putting herself in the exact same dangers you could find yourself in?” I shrug. “I don’t know—I’m not in your head.”

Olivia smiles. “No. No, you’re not.”

I sigh. “I’m sorry to just unload on you like this. I hope you can understand why I didn’t tell you before...”

She nods. “I get it.”

“I won’t call you ‘Mom’,” I tell her quickly. “Not because I have a loyalty to my own mother—believe me, that ship has sailed. But because I don’t want people potentially getting the wrong idea...”

“Wrong idea?”

“Well, that maybe you helped me along the way,” I reply. “Nepotism runs rampant in jobs, and although I know you put in a good word for me a few times, I don’t want your reputation getting ruined.”

“Who else knows?”

“Don, of course,” I reply. “And Hunter knows, and so does Edythe.”

She nods. “Okay.” She steps forward then and pulls me into her arms. “I wanted you—of course I wanted you,” she says softly. “Although I’ll readily admit that I only told people I had a pregnancy scare...”

“It’s okay,” I whisper, crossing my fingers that I won’t choke up completely. “I don’t blame you for anything.”

“Thank you...” She pulls back, not letting go of my hands. “Well, Maggie, do you want or need anything?”

I sigh. “There is one thing,” I say softly.

“Yes?” she asks.

I make sure my eyes meet hers before I permit myself to ask another pivotal question, one that could change everything forever. “Who is my father?” I ask her then, knowing that it could take her years to answer the question, or that she could simply answer it in the blink of an eye.

THE END


End file.
